


Maybe It's Destiny

by SideStepping



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Character Deaths, M/M, Violence, temporary major character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-16 19:46:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 40,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2282352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SideStepping/pseuds/SideStepping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In retribution for crimes against her kind, Nimueh demands tributes to be sent to Ascetir yearly as sacrifices. Merlin is chosen from Ealdor, Arthur from Camelot and together with the other tributes they travel to Ascetir to face their fate. It's there that Merlin and Arthur discover the true meaning of destiny.</p><p>  <i>"Here at the end of his life, at possibly the worst place in the world to do it, he'd fallen in love."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well this was a bit of an adventure and there were a lot of important people involved!!
> 
> First of all, thanks to the mods, all your hard work really paid off and there was more than one 'I'm worried about finishing' message but I made it through!
> 
> To J, my beta, reader, head-basher and friend -- thank you :)
> 
> Massive thanks to [bend_me_baby](http://bend-me-baby.livejournal.com/) who did a lightning speed beta (I honestly don't know how they did it) and all their comments and suggestions were fabulous. You saved me from a big panic at the 11th hour!
> 
> And finally to my artist [aku_rin](http://aku-rin.livejournal.com/) who is just stunning. It's been a pleasure to work with you!! Her artwork can be found [Here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2290196) and is also embedded in the fic.

Over two hundred people and his name was the name to be read out. The golden letters on the Stone shone out through the dark room and heads turned in Merlin's direction, their eyes sympathetic but hiding relief.

_Thank the stars it's not me,_ they were thinking.

Merlin didn't have that luxury.

He felt his mother's hand on his arm and collapsed into her touch.

“Merlin, Merlin,” her quiet words in his ear barely withheld the onslaught of tears, which were on the brink of falling from his lashes.

A strong hand gripped his upper arm and on his other side, his best friend Will, pulled him upright.

“Pull yourself together,” he said gruffly. Merlin looked Will in the eye, the low light in the room making it difficult for him to determine what his friend was actually thinking.

Scattered murmurings broke out across the room and Merlin heard people around him.

“This isn't right,” one voice said.

Merlin smiled sadly, he hadn't known people had cared.

He was the son of a dragonlord, people were meant to fear him, not feel for him.

At the front of the room, Simmons, the village leader, was carefully putting the Stone back in its box. Then he turned to the group and beckoned Merlin forward.

After a gentle nudge forwards from Will, Merlin found the ability to move and he stumbled through the crowd which parted before him. At the front, he stood before Simmons, who was up on the stage, and bowed his head.

“Merlin Emrys you have been chosen, one from many, to be befitted with the honour of-”

“Where is he? Where's my son?!”

His father's raw, broken yell made Merlin look up, turning to the back of the room to where Balinor had burst through the doors. His black embroidered cloak swept behind him over the ground and his eyes burned through the shadows in the room.

Simmons broke off from his speech, looking shocked and unsure of himself. With reason, Merlin thought, Balinor wasn't supposed to appear before the peoples except in times of great crisis. As dragonlord it was his duty to live a secluded life. But then, for Balinor, now was a time of crisis.

He pushed through the villagers, who looked on him with a mixture of awe and fear, until he came to the front and stood by Merlin's side.

“He can't go,” he said simply to Simmons, jutting his chin out and meeting Simmons' gaze with cold, clear determination.

Simmons opened his mouth, at a loss as of what to say.

“He is my son, he cannot go,” Balinor repeated firmly.

“But … the Stone,” Simmons gestured helplessly at the box, “we cannot go against that.”

There were more murmurings behind them now.

“Wasn't the same for my Frederic, of course Balinor's boy can be spared, _of course_. Why is he any more important than my Frederic?”

Balinor obviously didn't hear, but Merlin did and he ducked his head, feeling horribly embarrassed. He wasn't any more important. He wasn't the first to be sent to Ascetir and he wasn't the youngest or oldest out of the candidates so far. There wasn't anything special about him at all, except his father, and his magic, but no one knew about that. They'd have sent him to Ascetir long ago if they did.

“I will go in his place,” Balinor announced, eyeing Simmons calmly, daring him to object.

“Balinor see reason!” someone shouted out from behind them. There was a disturbance and Merlin turned to find his mother had made it to the front of the crowd, Will right behind her.

“Please,” Simmons half begged, “I cannot defy the calling of the Stone.”

“I command you to do so,” Balinor spat back.

“Father-” Merlin began, but yet another voice broke over them all.

“Put an end to this petty fighting,” the voice said and every head turned to the corner of the room where Kilgharrah had suddenly materialised, in human form, but still sufficiently terrifying to send the room into panic. Women rushed to shield their children and men drew their swords from their belts.

Kilgharrah snorted, a cloud of smoke billowing out around him.

“You will not harm me with those simple blades humans, I wish only to speak with my master. Peace.”

“Come with me,” Balinor muttered to Merlin and the others and then strode over to the corner, greeting Kilgharrah with a steely glare.

“Here,” Kilgharrah said, opening a door to a side room and leading them in. Once the door was shut, Balinor rounded on Kilgharrah.

“How dare you come to the village! Have I not told you you are not welcome here?”

“Neither are you. Your duty to dragonkind is to live in seclusion, away from other humans,” Kilgharrah retorted, “I came because I had no other choice. You walked amongst the humans and challenged their ways so I must do so myself.”

“I came to protect my son! My only heir. Or do you forget Kilgharrah, that he is the last of our kind?” Balinor walked right up to Kilgharrah, a battle of wills going on beneath fierce gazes.

It was Hunith's quiet voice that broke the silence.

“Are there not more pressing matters at hand here? Merlin has had little say in his own fate.”

“Humans have no say in their fate,” Kilgharrah said, “destinies are written in the dawn of time and cannot be changed by the whims of those so fragile as humans.”

“Are you saying,” Will broke in, his voice at first angry, but then softer as Kilgharrah's eyes flashed a dangerous orange, “are you saying Merlin has to go?”

There was a very long silence. Hunith, Will and Balinor all looked at Kilgharrah expectantly. His gaze however, was on Merlin who was determinedly looking at the floor.

“It is so,” Kilgharrah said eventually with a sigh.

**OOO**

_A week before …_

“Oh come on, Merlin, drop the act,” Will said exasperatedly, joining Merlin by the unlit campfire. “Don't pretend you couldn't have the fire lit and the food cooked with just a click of your fingers. Now get a move on, I'm hungry.”

Merlin cast the flints aside with a worried glance around him.

“What if someone sees?” he asked.

“Who's going to see?” Will snorted. “And anyway, I bet they all know already.”

Sighing at his friend's persistence, Merlin raised a hand over the twigs and leaves, his magic bubbling up and spilling out. The wood caught fire and soon a happy little blaze was burning.

Will grabbed the two rabbits he'd caught and began to skin them. Merlin looked away. He'd never been one to openly wish harm upon animals.

“Life,” Will said, waving the half skinned rabbit in Merlin's face, “face it Merlin. It's how the world works.”

Merlin wrinkled his nose and pushed Will's hand away, reaching out to poke the fire and throw a log onto it.

They cooked the rabbits there in the forest glade on wooden spits above the fire. When they were done, Merlin wrapped one up carefully and stowed it in his backpack to take home to his mother. The other they ate, the smokey aftertaste of the fire adding an extra special quality to the meat and Will dropped the last of his bones into the fire with a contented sigh.

Merlin was still gnawing the last of the meat from a bone when Will turned to him, an expectant look on his face.

“So, what did you drag me up here for then?”

Merlin took the opportunity to drag a few more scraps of meat off the bone to avoid answering. Eventually however, the bones were picked thoroughly clean and Merlin's had no choice but to toss them into the fire and turn to Will.

In all truth, he'd just wanted to get away. Ealdor was suffocating him, the small village where everyone knew everyone else's secrets and there was no such thing as a private life, especially if you were the son of a dragonlord.

He did wonder how he'd kept his magic hidden so long.

And then, that morning, someone down at the market had mentioned Ascetir, and the cold, drowning feeling of dread had filled him, and all his problems had risen to the surface.

He hadn't seen his father in years, his mother had little money, people were whispering, people were talking. About him.

People were suspicious of the dragon boy, as they called him, one too many _incidents_ and near reveals of his powers. The people of Ealdor were generally good at turning a blind eye to pretty much anything; the line, however, was drawn at magic.

Magic was banned, magic was outlawed, hated and despised by the people because of sorcerers who had once used it for the wrong ends.

Merlin wasn't like that though, he wasn't. He told himself that every day.

He said none of this to Will, mainly because Will already knew.

He hadn't come up into the woods that day to talk about his magic or his father. He wanted, _needed_ to talk about Ascetir because he was worried …

_I'm afraid that if it's me that goes, no one will care._

They were the silent, unspoken words that he couldn't possibly say aloud.

“Is it Ascetir?” Will asked.

Merlin nodded, running a hand through his hair, sighing through his nose and getting to his feet.

“I'm afraid Will,” he mumbled.

“What about? You've got _magic_ Merlin, if there's anyone out there who could come back from that place it would be you!”

Merlin bit his lip. Will hadn't understood. How could he?

In the end, he just shrugged. “Yeah, of course,” he said quietly, to dissuade Will.

“And what are the chances anyway?” Will asked, his tone almost overly light. “It probably won't be either of us.”

Merlin glimpsed for the first time, a glimmer of worry in Will's expression. It occurred to him that it might not just be him who was afraid.

He dropped back to the ground next to Will and whilst neither of them said anything, the silence wasn't uncomfortable. Both understood the other’s thoughts, like they always had, and both understood that neither wanted to go, but in the end, they'd have no choice.

**OOO**

Merlin didn't want to look at them, _couldn't_ look at them. The sympathy in Will and his mother's faces, the anger – almost despair – in his father's and as Kilgharrah looked up, his gaze was withdrawn, calculating.

“Merlin, I'm so sorry-” his mother began.

“You have to stay alive,” his father cut in, “you have to. So much depends on you.”

Merlin met his father's gaze, something like anger coiling within him. Why did Balinor have to make such demands?

“You can't ask that of me,” he said, almost spitting the words, “you can't. Not like that. You think I don't know? Didn't know that from the moment my name was on that stone I was a doomed man? You know that too well and yet you still expect everything of me!”

He turned on his heel and stormed from the room, ignoring their stunned expressions, left the hallway and headed out into the night. The villagers had dissipated, gone back to their homes now they knew they were safe for another year.

He didn't blame them. He would have been thankful for the knowledge that he was safe, that he didn't have go to Ascetir. To his death.

He who had so much resting on him. He was the _last_ dragonlord. After him, there was no one. The survival of his species rested on him, and there was nothing he could do.

It took him a few moments of walking to realise he was being followed. He whirled around angrily to be confronted with two soldiers, the insignia of Camelot embroidered on their capes.

“What do you want?” he asked bluntly.

“We have to keep you under watch,” the taller of the two soldiers replied, “to be sure you don't escape in the night.”

“Can't I just have one more night to myself?” Merlin asked, his eyes wide, pleading with the soldiers.

“We can't allow it,” the shorter soldier said abruptly. He had a broader frame than his taller companion and looked disaffected by Merlin's pleading.

“Let him go,” came a voice from behind them and the two soldiers turned to face the newcomer. It was Kilgharrah. In the dark, his eyes gleamed.

“We can't allow it,” the soldier repeated, straightening his back to try and find some form of status in the presence of Kilgharrah's fiery demeanour.

Kilgharrah looked at him disdainfully, but then his expression clouded.

“I will go with him, the youngling will not leave my company.”

The shorter knight glanced between Merlin and Kilgharrah and came to the abrupt decision to let the dragon have his way.

Merlin turned and continued walking, knowing Kilgharrah was behind him. It seemed the dragon had something to say to him, but he wasn't going to make it easy. Right now, he just wanted to be alone.

He held the fear that threatened to envelop him at bay, but only just. He just wasn't sure what he was going to do, how he could possibly see a way forward.

He reached the edge of the village and carried on, storming into the forest. Brambles and roots snagged at his feet and ankles and vines hung between trees and tried to block his way. He carried on heedless. He didn't follow a path, just followed a line his feet made up for him as he walked. He suddenly came to a halt to find a fallen tree blocking his way. After a moment, he simply blasted it away with a pure blot of his power. What did it matter if anyone saw? He was on his way to die anyway.

He came out into the clearing in the woods, suddenly realising that Kilgharrah was no longer following him. He looked around briefly before a great shadow suddenly descended from above.

With a shuddering crash, Kilgharrah landed in the clearing, now in his true dragon form.

He regarded Merlin for a moment with great, glowing eyes before he folded his wings and let out a great sigh.

Merlin fidgeted, not wanting to meet the dragon's gaze. He'd rarely met Kilgharrah and never before whilst he had been in dragon form. The sight was both terrifying and majestic at the same time and Merlin felt awed by the fact that one day he would be a lord over these animals, would live in peace with them.

His mind snapped back to the present as he realised numbly, that day would now never come.

Taking a shaking breath he looked up to meet Kilgharrah's gaze, his emotions writhing between fear and anger, but overall, sadness, boiling hot behind his eyes and in his heart.

“Why do they fear you?” he asked.

Kilgharrah blinked, regarding the warlock with a gaze that not only accepted Merlin, but also, understood him.

“Because they do not understand me,” Kilgharrah responded. “It is the nature of all humans to turn against that which they do not understand, you, young warlock, know that as I do.”

“It's silly,” Merlin said, letting out a shaking laugh that was mingled with tears. “But I've been afraid of this for a long time, afraid that no one will miss me when I'm gone.”

Kilgharrah bowed his head.

“Your loss in this world, young warlock, would be one of great sadness. You have the power to be the greatest sorcerer to ever live. It is not just the people here who would mourn your loss. The world itself, nature's heart, would weep.”

The words were a comfort in a sense, but also spoke of something that Merlin couldn't comprehend. He didn't want to be great, he didn't want to be powerful. He just wanted to live a normal life.

“You face many threats in Ascetir, Merlin, and it is impossible to see the path ahead. But I know, as do you, that you have the power within you to conquer all evils.”

Merlin shook his head miserably, a bleak coldness settling on his heart.

“I don't want to go,” he murmured.

“It is not our choice, young warlock, whether we walk in this life. A path has already been laid out for us. Your name was meant to be called out. This is the path you are meant to take. For good or ill, this is destiny.”

Merlin bit back every word that tried to escape his confused and troubled mind. The idea that his future had already been written was not one he entertained lightly. Destiny was not something he wanted to openly give himself up to.

Instead he looked up to the dragon.

“In Ascetir, what must I do? What is my goal?”

The dragon sighed once again before unfurling his wings.

“Stay alive,” he responded before crouching and taking a great leap up into the night sky.

Merlin watched him fly away until he disappeared into the darkness.

**OOO**

The village was quiet when he returned and he ignored the knights who fell into step behind him when he reappeared from the forest.

He went straight home; glad to see his father had left. Will had also gone and whilst Merlin felt a pang for his friend, he needed to be alone with his mother. The guards stayed at the door as Hunith closed it, shutting them inside the safe and homely place he'd known since he was a child.

Enfolding him in her arms, she gently soothed him as the tears began to fall. She didn't say anything, didn't need to.

After a while, she gently pushed him towards his bed and Merlin felt for the first time that night, just how tired he was. He lay down and she pulled the covers over him, her smile trying to be happy, trying to be hopeful, but he could see the sadness behind it.

He wanted to reach out to her, to promise her it would be alright, but they would both know that his words were lies.

Eventually, he succumbed to sleep, but it was too brief and too restless that by the time dawn came and the guard's knock came on the door, he barely felt like he'd closed his eyes. Hunith hesitantly came to his bed, softly patting his hair down.

“You have to go,” she said quietly, and he could tell she was having to force her voice out through tears. He took her hand, holding it firmly in his.

She appeared to understand what he meant by this, and left his side, allowing him to get up and ready. He dressed, the whole procedure seeming to have a sense of finality about it.

He ignored breakfast, simply taking the small about of bread and cheese his mother gave him. Outside, three horses were waiting.

“Good luck, my boy,” Hunith said, pulling him into a hug, sighing as she pressed her hands into his back. “I love you.”

Merlin was silent, withdrawn from the situation as if watching it from afar. This shouldn't, _couldn't_ , be happening. Will was there and he clapped hands with Merlin, furiously denying the tears in his eyes.

The guards stepped forwards, the taller seeming sympathetic.

“We have to go,” he said, “otherwise we won't reach Camelot by nightfall.”

Hurried goodbyes spilled from lips as Merlin was led to his horse. Tears sat on his lashes, not quite falling because he still wasn't sure what was really happening.

He'd never ridden a horse before. And the sensation felt odd as he climbed into the saddle. The short guard led off and the tall guard motioned for Merlin to follow.

Merlin set his gaze forward, following the soldier out of the village at a steady trot. Kilgharrah's words of destiny echoed in his head and he let the tears fall before quickly brushing them away. Destiny had dealt him this hand, this was the path had to follow.

He didn't look back.

* * *

Of all the names that could have been on the Stone, Arthur's was the one that really wasn't meant to be.

There was a stunned silence in the royal halls, people looking between Arthur and Uther where they stood up on the platform, near to where Arthur's uncle Agravaine was standing, a strangely blank look on his face as he looked at the name on the Stone he was holding. At this point people began to talk, murmured whispers reaching them on the platform. As he had been chosen, Arthur was meant to go and hear the mandatory speech before being placed under custody. But it couldn't be him ... he couldn't possibly go. He was sole heir to the throne, and everyone knew that no one came back from Ascetir. Camelot could not be without a ruler when his father died. He turned questioningly to his father, asking silently for a signal. Asking, pleading, _begging_ , that his father would say he couldn't possibly go, and to make the Stone choose another. His father however just shook his head firmly and got down from the platform, storming from the halls in a billow of his red cloak.

Arthur made to go after him, but Gaius, the court physician, caught hold of his arm and forced him to stay. “I will go and see to your father,” he said in a hurried whisper, “you must listen to the speech and then prepare to leave.”

“But Gaius-” Arthur began, but Gaius just shook his head sadly.

“I'm sorry, my boy. There's nothing you or I can do.”

With that, Gaius turned and left the platform and Arthur was left to walk to the centre and stand before his uncle. Those few steps felt like miles and when he finally got there and turned his back on the crowds to bow his head - as he had seen so many others do before him - he felt so alone. Stranded like an island in the middle if the ocean and he had to fight so hard not to let the tears fall. Over the years, he'd seen many different people chosen. Some screamed, fought, tried to run and had to be brought to the platform by force. Others broke down in tears once they were there. Some stood there, silently accepting their fate, their eyes hollowed, their souls already dead. And a few, just a handful, went willingly, faces almost hopeful at the prospect of going to die.

He'd seen so many stand in this spot – he'd never expected that he ever would.

“Arthur Pendragon, you have been chosen, one from many, to be befitted with the honour of travelling to Ascetir as a representative of Camelot. Many years ago the sorceress Nimueh cast a curse upon this land demanding yearly sacrifices in recompense for the persecution of her kind. As you stand here now, you must understand the honour of giving up your life, so that one day this curse may pass.”

There was silence in the hall, and Arthur took a shuddering breath before looking up and meeting Agravaine's eye. He expected sympathy, or at least compassion, but Agravaine's face was blank and all he did was give Arthur a swift nod before gesturing to the guards who would escort him off the stage.

They didn't try to restrain him as they did for others, they simply walked behind him as he led the way off the stage, determined to keep his head up and his back straight.

As they left the Great Hall, Arthur heard a wave of talk break out. He wondered what they were saying, he wondered if they cared.

* * *

“Why must she do this to me Gaius?”

Uther stood with his back to Gaius, his shoulders slumped, one hand resting on the throne, surrounded by the air of a man who had given up.

“Why must she take away everything I love?”

“It is her form of revenge, sire,” Gaius responded, clasping his hands in front of him, “she is a powerful and dangerous woman and, in her eyes, we have done her much wrong.”

Uther's shoulders tensed briefly and Gaius hesitated, wondering if the king would reprimand him for his words. Uther never liked anyone to put some reasoning behind Nimueh's actions.

Uther however, slumped again and Gaius tried to determine what he was thinking.

“What if he doesn't come home?”

Gaius couldn't answer that.

“Tomorrow I'll have to leave him at the harbour, have to turn my back on him and ride back to Camelot in safety. A coward's actions.” Uther's words were bitter but shaking with emotion. “I cannot send him on his way to die Gaius. Did it really get so bad? Could I not have done something? Prevented this somehow?”

Gaius tried to formulate words, but he stumbled in his silence. He had seen so many of his kin put to death in Uther's purge of magic. He had watched as the innocent, with or without magic, had burned. A king broken by grief, but soon to be twisted and destroyed by anger and hatred.

The innocents then had not deserved their fate any more than the innocents who went to Ascetir did now. Uther could have stopped. He could have ended the Purge before he was utterly lost in his bitterness.

Losing loved ones was never easy, but for Uther to have lost his wife in the birth of his son and all that through magic. For him then to turn on those with magic … it was no wonder Nimueh sought revenge.

“We can only hope,” he said slowly, hiding his true feelings as he always had, throughout the Purge and all the terrible years that followed. “We can only hope that Arthur comes home.”

* * *

 

The ride to Camelot took most of the day and by the time they reached the city gates, Merlin was saddle-sore and his clothes and face were coated in dust from the journey.

The soldiers had ridden with him from Ealdor, one in front and one behind. Merlin had become numb through the passing hours, almost falling asleep on the horse. He was jerked out of his daze, however, as they rode down into a valley; across the valley, on a small hill, stood Camelot.

He'd never seen the city before, but there was nowhere else it could be. A castle stood, tall and proud at the top of the hill, its gleaming towers reaching up and its great walls circling the citadel in a mass of white stone. Outside the city walls, Merlin could see large houses and wide streets in what he presumed was the upper town. At the base of the hill, amassed together, were numerous houses, mainly made from wood and piled together, one on top of another.

“Yeah,” said the soldier who had ridden up from behind him, he was the taller man and had an easy smile on his face, “that's Camelot.”

Merlin realised he had been more than a little awestruck by the city.

It was just so … big.

“I don't get it, all you Ealdor people, every year, sit there and just gape.”

“It's a bit bigger than home,” Merlin said wryly, a small smile tugging at his lips. The city was beautiful.

“I guess I'm just used to it,” the soldier responded, “I couldn't be you that's for sure, Ealdor is …”

He trailed off clearly searching for the right word and not wanting to offend.

“Small?” Merlin offered with a laugh. “Believe me, I know.” He sighed.

“You’re a dragonlord right?” the soldier asked. “I mean, it was your dad who stormed in last night. His dragon who spoke to us?”

“Son of a dragonlord,” Merlin corrected, “I won't take the title till my dad dies.” He paused, looking down at his hands. “I won't take the title at all now I guess. Not likely I'm going to be coming back from Ascetir is it?” It was the same every year, people went and faced whatever fate Nimueh had devised for them and no one came home. You began to give up hoping.

The soldier looked sympathetic.

The mood between them became slightly sour and they rode in silence for a while, heading towards the city that grew larger above them.

“It's not just you,” the soldier said eventually, “the king's son, Prince Arthur, he's been selected for Camelot.”

Merlin looked up, a small frown creasing his brow.

“Surely the king won't allow it?” he asked.

The soldier shrugged, “The king doesn't have a choice.”

Merlin's mind flickered briefly to his father, the way his eyes had shone with clear determination.

_He can't go_.

But in the end, Balinor didn't have a say in the matter. Even Kilgharrah could not change the decision. A dragon, king of all the magical beasts.

“ _Stay alive._ ”

That was all he'd had to say.

The road changed abruptly from dust and stones to a paved track and they began to pass houses on the very edges of the city. People who were out in their gardens, or on the roadside, turned to watch as they went past.

“Do they know?” Merlin asked the soldier softly. “Do they know who I am?”

“Yes,” the soldier replied grimly, “they know.”

From some, he received pitying glances, some curious looks, but mostly he just got looks of indifference. The people must see those chosen to go to Ascetir come through every year. He guessed their resources of sympathy must be well and truly dried up. Perhaps they had lost loved ones, or perhaps, they just didn't care.

The city itself was a mixture of the vastly exciting and the vastly frightening for Merlin. He'd never seen so many people together in one place – it was dizzying. People crowded the road, barely making room for the carts, horses and carriages that were trying to make their way along the streets.

When people glanced up to meet his eye, Merlin gained similar reactions that he had out at the city boundaries, here however, the glances were hurried, the people in the streets moving too fast.

The soldier had had to drop back behind him and Merlin had a hard time leading his horse through the crowds – it too was disoriented and scared by the crowds.

They made their way under a stone arch and the crowds almost immediately dispersed. They'd reached the upper town, where the houses were more spread out and fewer people in the streets.

Moving faster now, they climbed through the streets, winding their way up the hill. The streets were shadowed by the castle above them and Merlin looked up at the towers looming above them. He shuddered slightly, feeling small and trapped by the buildings and great castle.

Ealdor might be small, but at least you could see the sky, at least there was room to run.

The temptation to run in this moment was overwhelming.

Rounding a corner, they rode through the gates to the citadel and under the portcullis.

They had entered a courtyard, wide and spacious, the castle rising around them on every side. Soldiers and knights were in the courtyard, some seemed to be just idly wasting time, but there was a group in the middle, practicing fighting formations and sword movements. Their fluidity was mesmerising. They moved as one, a single being, their swipes and cuts precise, parrying against invisible enemies and then thrusting forward to land the final blow.

“Come on,” the short soldier said, jumping down from his horse in front of Merlin and coming to his side to hold Merlin's horse still as he climbed down. Behind them, the other soldier had also dismounted and he walked beside Merlin up the steps to the door of the castle.

They were about to go inside, when a disturbance made them look around. Yet another party had arrived, this tribute had four soldiers with her and the red of her cloak pooled on the ground around her beside the white horse she had been riding. Jet black hair tumbled down her back in waves and her eyes were narrowed in anger at the soldier who had come to her side.

“You dare touch me again and I will have your _head_ ,” she said in ringing tones, her voice echoing through the courtyard and making people look up. Even the knights training spared a glance in that direction.

The soldier stepped backwards, his hands raised slightly.

The woman smirked.

“Well if this is the best Camelot has to defend it, I fear for the kingdom,” she said, smiling mockingly.

Beside Merlin, the taller soldier gave a small chuckle.

“We should be inside,” the shorter soldier said, glaring at his companion and then grabbing Merlin's arm and wheeling him around to march him inside.

The small hall beyond was cool and dim after the bright sunshine outside. Merlin let himself be led through a maze of corridors until they reached a brighter lit passage; tall windows on one side made of clear glass let the sunshine flood in. Several doors led off the passage, most of which had soldiers standing outside them. Merlin wondered who were in them, who had been dealt the same fate as he. The soldiers showed him to a room, but as they opened the door, there was a flurry of activity down the corridor.

The first to appear was the dark haired lady who had insulted the guards. She paused as she came near to Merlin and stuck out a hand.

“Morgana,” she introduced herself.

“Merlin,” Merlin responded quietly.

She gave a small grimace. “Shame about all this.”

Merlin opened his mouth to comment on her light tone, but then he noticed the shadows under her eyes, the pain hidden in her face. She, like him, was holding back when she truly felt. He guessed all of the tributes would.

The guards pushed her on and Merlin's guards pushed him into his room. It was plain, a bed and table with a bowl of water to wash in. Merlin collapsed onto the bed the moment the door was shut.

He guessed he wouldn't sleep well that night.

**OOO**

They left the city at first light, before most of the citizens had woken and travelled through the streets and out into the valley, following a different road to the one Merlin had arrived on. This one led south, winding towards the head of the valley where the newly risen sun bounced and glittered on the sea. They travelled in rough, open carts, the uneven road jolting and bouncing them where they sat on wooden benches.

Merlin was sat next to a man named Lancelot and whilst they didn't speak, the silence was companionable. Merlin guessed that Lancelot felt, as he did himself, a mounting feeling of nervousness and foreboding.

It hadn't seemed real, up until now. It hadn't been tangible, realistic, there had always been a faint chance of salvation, a possibility that maybe it wasn't going to happen.

“I think,” Lancelot said, breaking the silence and making Merlin, as well as others in the cart, jump in surprise. “It's the unknown that scares me. We don't know what we're going up against, not a clue.”

There were various noises of assent, Lancelot having said what everyone else was thinking.

Merlin, however, stayed silent. He knew what they would be going up against – _magic_.

They didn't stand a chance.

“We'll stick together,” Lancelot said, somewhat optimistically in Merlin's mind. In the end, they would either turn on one another or Nimueh would make the choice of life and death for them. That was all there was to it.

His gaze drifted ahead, past the other cart in front of them to the head of the company where the king rode on horseback with his guard at his side.

Arthur rode a few steps behind his father, his hair golden in the sunlight and his back straight.

For a moment, Merlin wondered what he must be thinking.

“ _Stay alive_.”

Kilgharrah's words filtered into his mind and he shook his head, determined to regain his positivity. He had magic, he was a dragonlord, he had a reason to live. He wouldn't give up, more importantly, he _couldn't_.

His gaze returned to Lancelot who was looking at him with an encouraging smile.

“You ok?” he asked.

Merlin shrugged.

Lancelot gave a quiet laugh. “Yeah ok, not a great question to ask.”

Merlin allowed himself a small smile.

* * *

Arthur had never joined the procession of tributes to the harbour before. His father had always said that the journey was not one worthy of his time. Arthur knew how much his father hated Ascetir, hated Nimueh, and he presumed that it was because of these that this journey for Uther was one of nothing but pain and sorrow.

The sun was bright that morning, inducing a happy and cheerful air to the day that really should have no cheer at all. Had the weather matched Arthur's mood that this moment, it would have been a sober grey with a chill in the air.

He wasn't going to cry, wasn't going to drown in a vat of self-pity, which would be all too easy to do. He wasn't the first to take this rode, so why should he be sorry for himself? It could have been any other man, woman or child.

It was his duty to remain strong, to be a leader, to stay alive for his kingdom.

Keeping these thoughts at the forefront of his mind prevented him from considering other, less appealing thoughts.

He rode but a few paces behind his father and the King's guard surrounded them. Arthur hadn't wanted to ride on horseback, he didn't want to be privileged above the others, but his father had insisted.

Arthur wondered if the other tributes would afford him any of the honours befitting his status once they reached Ascetir. He shut the thought off quickly, not liking where it led him. No, once he was in Ascetir, he would be no different from the rest, Prince or not, survival was all that mattered.

His father had not spoken to him since they had left the city. He rode with a permanent frown, his back straight, but his eyes – when Arthur glimpsed them – betrayed a sorrowful soul. Arthur knew there would be no tears at the farewell. His father had shown Arthur from a young age, that where state and family were considered, state took precedence. No, there would be no tears, no heartfelt confessions, maybe a flicker of emotion, like the few that Arthur had learned to glimpse and prize throughout his childhood and growing up years. A deep show of affection was unlikely, less so a public one. Arthur had learned that.

He hoped, that if he ever returned, that would be enough to do his father proud. Perhaps he could bring an end to Nimueh and her terror campaign and then, then his father would be proud, would smile.

Closing his eyes briefly to clear his head of swirling thoughts, he opened them again and blinked in the bright sunlight. The sea was getting nearer and Arthur could see the docks now, many smaller boats moored there and one tall, high masted ship at anchor in the entrance to the bay.

It seemed a beautiful thing, even from this distance, a slender body, proud straight masts and, as Arthur watched, a red flag was drawn up to flutter from the mainmast.

It seemed too beautiful a thing, for them all to sail to their deaths upon.

Arthur had never been on a ship before, not a full sized one anyway. He'd travelled on a small, single-masted cutter once, when he had been younger, and they had gone out to meet the peoples of Camelot inhabiting the islands, just offshore from the mainland.

The sea had called to him in a strange and beautiful way, its gentle sway and endless curve. He guessed, now that all that lay for him across the sea was Ascetir, it didn't seem so appealing now.

The pace of the procession was slowing as they began to descend towards the bay. The sun had risen higher now and the valley and sea beyond were gleaming and bright. He wondered if he'd ever really appreciated the beauty of nature before now. He guessed that was what death, or the prospect of it, did to you. Forced you to appreciate life, before it was too late.

They had soon reached the harbour and Arthur could see several small shipping boats tied to the docks, ready to transport them to the big ship. The harbour was fairly quiet with just a few sailors and fisherman going about their business in the early morning. There were a few houses, clustered close to the waters edge, and on the far side of the bay, Arthur could see a single solitary tower rising at the head of the promontory which curved round the right side of the bay to it's head. He knew it was a lookout tower, with a few soldiers manning it, ready to defend the kingdom from attackers.

As far as Arthur knew, no enemies had ever come to Camelot over the sea. Beyond the islands, which were part of the kingdom, Arthur didn't even know what lay out in the ocean. Ascetir was out there, but beyond that it was a vast unknown. He wondered if people had ever travelled out there. Something of the mystery of the unexplored called to Arthur. He briefly imagined a happier time when, with a small crew and a sturdy but trustworthy boat, he could go out to discover the world.

But some dreams could never be. He knew that.

* * *

 

The carts stopped only a short walk to the pier and the boats ready to take them to the ship. Merlin walked beside Lancelot from the cart, determined not to let his legs shake as the day, bright with sun, swam before him.

He was leaving, he was really leaving.

The docks and small harbour were a rather humble farewell, the few people who were there stood quietly by, watching the group with pity and silent respect.

There was barely a sound in the early morning air.

The guards who had ridden with them, took them down to the boats. Merlin noticed they kept a careful hand on their swords, ready to prevent anyone who may think of escaping. Leading the procession were the king and his son, both proud and tall. He wondered if Uther cared, if he would show _any_ emotion as he sent his son to die.

The pair stopped on the wood of the pier, but the guards pushed the rest of the tributes forward, taking them down into the boats.

Merlin was at the back of the group and as he passed the king and Arthur, he heard a brief snippet of their conversation.

“... so whatever happens Arthur, whatever you must do. Do it. Do whatever you have to, to come home.”

Arthur ducked his head at his father's words, clearly hiding some emotion. Merlin waited as the rest of the group got into the boat.

“Just stay alive.”

The comment made Merlin look round, a stone dropping in his stomach as he tried to swallow past his emotions. He _felt_ for Arthur, understood his trouble, wanted to reach out to him. Faced with a demand he could not fulfil. Because no one came back from Ascetir.

He was lost in the moment until a heavy hand fell upon his shoulder and pushed him down into the boat next to Lancelot. Looking up, the soldier gave Merlin a sympathetic grimace before moving away.

Sat on the wooden planks at the back of the boat, Merlin watched as Arthur's father placed a hand on his son's shoulder before giving him a final nod.

With a small bow to his father, Arthur turned and walked to the end of pier where the first boat had a space waiting for him.

Merlin expected Uther to say something to the tributes, but the king had turned away, walking back to his horse.

“It's times like this,” Lancelot said, speaking quietly, “that you almost start to pity him.”

Merlin twisted his mouth in a grim sort of smile. He could never find it in himself to pity the king. Too many of his kind had suffered at the tyrant's hand. Not that he supported Nimueh, but Uther was not to be pitied, too many innocent people had died.

However, seeing his slumped shoulders and distraught expression as he climbed back onto his horse, Merlin had to admit, he looked a little more _human_.

With a lurch, someone cast the mooring ropes of the boat away and two sailors in the front took to the oars, paddling with strong, smooth strokes away from the pier and out into the bay.

The great ship at anchor out in the deeper waters loomed nearer, people moving about on its deck and readying the vessel for sailing.

It was a fine ship, gleaming in the sun with brilliant white sails unfurling as they approached. On the main deck, Merlin could see rope ladders being readied, to drop over the side to accept the ship's newest passengers.

He wondered how anyone could bear to make the journey as part of the crew, how anyone could simply leave the tributes at Ascetir and return. Were they guiltless? Did they just try to forget?

The boats came alongside with a soft bump and in the front, the two rowers reached out to grab hold of the rope ladder.

“Up you go,” they ordered.

They went up one by one, the tributes from the other boats doing the same and Merlin was one of the last up. As he scrambled over the railing and onto the deck, soldiers moved to hoist the ladders back up, waving the rowers off as they turned their small boats back to the shore. On the deck itself, there was a group of about twenty men – bar the tributes – who all wore similar clothing, black shirts with tight dark pants and high boots. Merlin guessed they must be the ones tasked with the sailing.

They were watching the tributes with almost disturbing attentiveness; something like curiosity. It made Merlin's skin crawl as he looked away. As he did so, a voice spoke out from up above them.

“Welcome, tributes, to the _Black Dragon_. A finer ship you will find nowhere else in the kingdom or beyond. It is only fitting that such a fine vessel be used to carry the bravest of souls.”

The speaker was a dark haired man, his hair slicked back and his slack mouth twisted into something of a leering smile. Merlin immediately took a disliking to him. He wore similar clothing to the rest of the crew, yet he had embellished his with a dark soft jacket and a fine silver badge which was pinned on the front of his jacket. After looking for a moment, Merlin realised it was Camelot's royal crest.

This man was royalty.

He was walking slowly down the stairs from the bridge to the main deck, his ease on the boat discomforting and his lack of sympathy plain as he regarded the tributes.

This man did not care they were all going to die.

The majority of the group seemed to share Merlin's discomfort and as the man reached the main deck there was a subtle but definite shift backwards away from him.

“If you look back now, you'll have the last chance of looking upon Camelot before we leave the bay. Even now my men raise the anchor and we set sail.”

A few members of the group turned to the side of the boat and looked back towards the shore. Merlin stayed where he was, not wanting to look back because he didn't trust himself not to breakdown when the view was finally cut off. And anyway, he reasoned, his home was back in Ealdor. He hadn't looked back then and no amount of looking wistfully at the Camelot shoreline would change that. Oh, how he wished he'd spared that one last look back.

He was surprised to see Arthur had also not gone to look back, the Prince was staring at his feet, fiddling absentmindedly with the rough edge of his shirt sleeve. The sunlight haloed his head and Merlin had to swallow down whatever confusing swirl of emotions rose in his throat at that point.

The wind caught in the sails and the ship began to pick up speed. Merlin almost heard the moment they passed the headland. There was a brief silence as those who had been looking back, turned away and then a muffled sob from one of the tributes.

She was pretty, her curly dark hair hiding her face as she briefly wiped tears away. The man next to her put a consoling arm around her shoulders and she looked up at him, a small smile on her lips.

Merlin stomach dropped as he saw the resemblance between the pair. Which poor parents had been unfortunate enough to lose both their children to Ascetir in the same year?

The brother and sister shared a quiet word, perhaps of comfort, and then broke apart.

Merlin felt a sharp tug at his heart, wanting to have someone with him now who would make him feel loved. He cast the selfish thought aside because, no matter what, he would not wish for someone he cared about to share his fate. It was best he faced his challenges alone.

“Cenred will show you where you will sleep,” the man, presumably captain, continued. “It will take us two days to reach Ascetir. I am Agravaine, of the Pendragon line and see it my duty to care for those who make the greatest sacrifice for our kingdom.” Agravaine finished with what could be called a gracious smile.

Another man with long curtains of dark hair stepped out of the group of sailors and walked towards the aft of the ship where stairs led down into darkness.

The tributes followed, walking in a line behind Cenred down to the lower deck. However, as Arthur passed Merlin, Agravaine stepped forward.

“No, Arthur, your father requested you had the best lodgings. You are still our Prince, no matter what.”

Arthur looked somewhat embarrassed as the other tributes moved passed him, but he went with Agravaine towards the stern where presumably a cabin was waiting for him.

Merlin hesitated, watching the Prince and the way Agravaine's hand curled all too comfortably around his sword hilt, whilst he was at Arthur's side.

“Move on,” one of the sailors said, nudging Merlin forward. Merlin started out of his daydream and hurried after Lancelot, shaking his head to clear it of troubling thoughts. Arthur was just one tribute from many and in the end, they all faced the same fate in Ascetir. He didn't need to worry himself with the Prince's troubles.

He brought up the end of the line of tributes and followed the rest down into darkness.

* * *

The sea was fairly calm as they left the mainland behind them. There was a strong breeze, pushing the boat forwards at a good speed and through the windows of his cabin, looking back, Arthur saw the last of the coastline disappearing over the horizon. He sighed, drawing in a steady breath and then releasing it. Camelot was behind him now, he had to let go.

His cabin was luxurious, designed to have maximum comfort even amongst the most unsteady of seas. A soft bed filled one side of the room, with a desk and chair in the middle, and cupboards built into the wall on the other. Agravaine had seen that he had food and wine to satisfy him and as he subconsciously reached for a cherry, he wondered if the other tributes had been treated so finely as he. He doubted it.

For a moment, he was angry at his father, was he trying to cut him off from the others? They were all the same here, all heading towards the same death. He didn't want to be placed above them.

The juice of the cherry ran down his chin and he wiped it away with a napkin that had been left on the table with the food. The gentle swaying of the ship rolled away his anger, bringing with it a much more unwelcome feeling. He was afraid. Afraid of what was to come. Afraid that he might never go back, might never rule his people, might leave his kingdom without a leader.

What would happen when he didn't return? When the next year's choosing rolled in and he hadn't come home? His father was already a broken man, Camelot would fall.

He hadn't looked back. Uther hadn't looked back for one last sight of his son, for one last nod of farewell. Maybe Uther thought the battle was already fought and lost.

It made Arthur all the more determined that he _had_ to get home.

The door to his cabin opened with a soft knock and Arthur turned to see his Uncle in the doorway. He welcomed him in with a smile, somewhat glad that Agravaine was here, it didn't seem that all his family had given up on him yet.

“Arthur,” Agravaine said, a smile ready on his face, “how are you? I hope your cabin is to your satisfaction.”

Arthur nodded, dropping the devoured cherry back onto the plate. “It's more than I could have asked for.”

Agravaine smiled again. “You father specified you were to have everything you needed. There's no reason for your last days to be anything but comfortable.”

Arthur frowned, biting back the words that came to mind. _My last days? So you don't think I'll be coming home?_

He let it slide however. In a sense, he felt sorry for Agravaine. Every year he was captain of the _Black Dragon_ , every year he had seen another twelve go off and not come back. Maybe he had given up hope. Arthur didn't know how he could survive it otherwise.

“Thank you,” he said, gesturing at the cabin, “for all this. For your empathy.”

Agravaine bowed his head graciously. “It is nothing sire.”

As Agravaine turned to leave, Arthur stopped him.

“Make sure the other tributes are as well fed and treated. I'm no different from them here.”

Agravaine once again bowed his head. “Of course, sire.”

He left, shutting the door with a snap and Arthur dropped down into the chair.

_His last days …_

* * *

 

A deck below, Merlin was testing the shackles around his wrists before dropping back against the wall. The water soaked planks made his back damp and a trickle of water from somewhere kept dripping into his hair. The whole deck was dark and stank of fish. Vertical wooden beams supported the roof above them and from them ran the chains that kept them in place.

“So, remind me again, why do we have to wear these?” a man, Merlin thought he'd heard being called Gwaine, was waving his shackles at a nearby sailor … soldier, captor.

The whole group had been shackled, the rough iron forced around their wrists and ankles as soon as they had all descended into the dark pit. Some, like Gwaine, had put up a fight, but they had soon been subdued by the other soldiers who had followed them down the stairs.

It was Cenred who answered, leaning against one of the pillars and smirking as Gwaine tried pulling the chains from the post where they were attached.

“We've had a few tributes before who tried to escape. We don't really want to lose any of you overboard. They're for your safety really.”

“I bet the Prince isn't required to wear them,” Morgana said as she sat down, her fine cloak from the previous day gone, instead she wore a dark green tunic over black pants and a pale green cape over the top.

Lancelot was sat next to Merlin and his jaw tightened as he dropped the shackles he had been fiddling with.

“Just when I thought this couldn't get any worse,” he sighed.

Most of the group had sat down now, realising they were somewhat defeated. Gwaine however approached Cenred, staring him down defiantly, his chin raised.

“So much for us being the brave souls making a noble sacrifice,” Gwaine said, “you're all cowards the lot of you.”

The man who had been chained up next to Gwaine, rose to his feet. He was tall and his broad frame was muscled and strong. He placed a hand on Gwaine's shoulder.

“Calm down, mate,” he said quietly and after a moment, Gwaine dropped his gaze, stepping away from Cenred and sitting down on the floor. The tall man stayed standing for a moment, making Cenred shift uncomfortably under the bigger man's stare.

Eventually, the moment passed, the tall man turning away from Cenred and dropping down to sit next to Gwaine.

The deck fell silent but for the creaking of the timbers as the ship rose and fell over the sea.

Merlin couldn't understand why he hadn't seen this coming before. The same group of men sailed with the tributes every year, no one ever came back, so how could anyone guess that the sailors were less then honourable?

He felt sick as he thought of what the soldiers could do to them. They were at their mercy.

He noticed Cenred's eyes were on him and he shifted away, pretending not to notice. Lancelot also moved beside him, almost in a defensive way and Merlin sighed a little to himself. He couldn't let other people stand up for him, couldn't let them protect him. Because he couldn't let himself care too much, couldn't let down the barriers and let them in, because in the end, they were all going to die and it was much easier to say goodbye to an enemy than it was to a friend.

**OOO**

Later in the day, as the ship continued on its path over the sea, the tributes began to talk. Merlin noticed that some, like himself, were fairly reluctant with starting a conversation. Others just pain didn't want to, but a few, namely Gwaine, eagerly struck up conversation with anyone who would listen.

“This is Percival,” he was saying, indicating the big man who had stared down Cenred. “We're from next door regions and we met en route.”

Percival gave as small smile as Gwaine clapped him on the shoulder. He wasn't talking much himself, but it was clear to everyone there that he'd taken a liking to Gwaine.

“You two _must_ be related,” Gwaine added, gesturing to the pair who were sat opposite him, leaning against each other.

The man nodded, curling an arm around his sister.

“We're brother and sister,” he said, “I've been living in the region next to Gwen's this past year. These weren't the circumstances I really wanted to be seeing her in again.”

Gwaine for the first time in the past hour was silent, as a mark of sympathy, Merlin guessed.

“I'm Elyan, by the way,” the man continued.

“Lancelot,” Lancelot broke in.

“Who's your friend?” Gwaine asked, gesturing to Merlin.

“I'm Merlin,” Merlin replied softly. He relaxed under Gwaine's genuine, easy smile.

“Anyone else want to introduce themselves?” Gwaine asked, looking round at the group as a whole.

In the dim light, Merlin saw two or three turn away from Gwaine's interest, moving further back into the shadows. Gwaine either didn't notice, or didn't care.

“I'm Morgana,” came Morgana's voice, she met Gwaine's gaze with a defiant glare.

“Such a pleasure to meet you,” Gwaine replied, smiling almost flirtatiously.

Morgana raised an eyebrow into a perfect arch. She was smirking now. “Oh really?”

Gwaine was about to respond when Percival bashed him on the leg. Gwaine snapped his mouth shut, looking confused for a fraction of a second. Then he settled back, seemingly quietened.

Morgana was still smirking.

Elyan coughed.

Footsteps sounded about them and the hatch opened, letting in a glimmer of sunlight. People descended, stepping carefully down. Cenred was at their head, his eyes glinting and a smile curling his lips as he looked at the tributes. No, not tributes, prisoners.

“We were just about to have dinner,” Cenred said, walking down the centre of the deck between the chained up tributes on either side. “But we decided we'd like a little _entertainment_.”

He said the last word with relish, his eyes flickering from one person to the next as he sought out his prey.

Gwaine began to rise, but Percival held him back.

“What about the pretty one in the corner?” asked one of the men Cenred had brought down with him.

Merlin's skin crawled as he felt Cenred's gaze latch onto him.

“Yes, good choice, he'll do perfectly.”

It took the rest of the tributes a moment to work out who exactly had been chosen, and by the time the soldiers had got over to Merlin and were unlocking his chains, the rest of the group were too slow to react. Lancelot tried to get up, only to be pushed down again.

“I'll be fine, leave it,” Merlin muttered as he was dragged to his feet and then down the length of the ship.

Gwaine was physically fighting Percival to come to Merlin's aid. Merlin gave Percival a small nod of thanks – he didn't want others to get hurt on his behalf – and Percival supplied a small, tight grimace in return.

He was pushed upwards and out of the hatch, onto the deck, the sunlight momentarily blinding him. Soldier, sailors – he wasn't much sure what to call them anymore – were milling around, but they looked up with interest when Cenred dragged Merlin to the centre of the deck.

“Some entertainment boys!” he laughed, stepping back as the other soldiers formed a ring around Merlin.

“What do you do then pretty boy? Do you sing? Act? How about you give us a dance?”

Merlin kept his eyes down, determined to ignore Cenred's jeering tones. A moment later, Cenred was in front of him, grasping him by the jaw and tilting his chin up so their gazes met.

“I said,” he growled threateningly, “ _dance_.”

He let go of Merlin's chin with a toss to the side, stepping back once more.

Merlin glanced around at the expectantly waiting men. Anger boiled within him at his being used as a performing monkey.

“I won't,” he retorted, lifting his chin of his own accord now and meeting Cenred's gaze with defiance.

Cenred just laughed.

“Aw boys, he thinks he's to good to dance. Shall we give him some encouragement?”

There was a round of laughter and agreement at Cenred's words, and out of the corner of his eye, Merlin saw someone step forward, something in their hands.

He didn't quite see the whip until the moment it struck him, lashing across his back from shoulder to hip.

Laughter.

“Dance, pretty boy, dance!”

Unwillingly, Merlin shifted from one foot to the other in a discordant bouncing jig.

The whip struck again.

More laughter.

Eyes searing from pain and humiliation, Merlin blinked away tears, determined to stay strong.

“Dance faster!”

He quickened his pace only to be struck again by the whip. This time he cried out, bending forwards as the lash lines on his back burned.

“I said dance!”

The laughter, the pain and the striking of the whip blended into one as a solitary tear ran down his cheek.

“Spin for us, pretty boy!”

Merlin began a slow spin, the jeering faces of the soldiers blurred through his tears.

“Faster!”

He spun again, letting the world dissolve around him. The whip struck again and at the pace he had been moving and the rolling of the ship, it was enough to unbalance him. He tumbled to the deck, landing awkwardly on his side and his chin grazing against the wood.

Insane jeering laughter followed his fall.

Cenred appeared above him, the whip now in his hand and he waved it threateningly, letting it dance across Merlin's cheek.

“Think you can just lie do-”

He cut himself up, looking up as the laughter stopped.

A voice sounded from not very far away, softer, if a little frustrated.

“Look, Agravaine, I just want a walk, some fresh air, I promise I'm not going to tumble in the sea or anything.”

In a heartbeat, Cenred seized Merlin from where he had been lying and hauled him to the edge of the ship where he slammed him hard against the railing.

All the breath knocked out of him and Merlin watched as the whip disappeared over board, dropping into the ocean. A soft hand patted him on the back as he struggled to breathe, Cenred's soft but icy voice in his ear.

“Don't you dare say a thing.”

He retched painfully, his head spinning from lack of air and the winding he had just received.

Another voice sounded nearby.

“What's happening?” It was the Prince, Merlin realised.

“The boy was seasick,” came Cenred's controlled reply. “That's right, get it all up.” It took Merlin a moment to realise Cenred had spoken to him, but as he was still struggling to regain his breath, he couldn't say much in response.

Dragging him upright, Cenred put a steadying arm round Merlin's shoulders.

Merlin caught sight of Arthur's face, concerned and a little confused. The rest of the soldiers appeared to have dispersed, giving the appearance of working.

“We'll just head back below deck, sire, there's nothing to worry about,” Cenred said cheerily.

Arthur however, stepped forward.

“Noo no, bring him to my cabin, I'll see that he's well rested.”

Merlin saw Cenred share a glance with Agravaine over Arthur's shoulder.

“Of course, sire.”

Arthur turned and headed back to his cabin. Cenred's firm hand on Merlin's lower back pushed him along, once again with Cenred's voice in his ear.

“If you dare speak a word, I'll have you whipped until you beg for death. Understood?”

Merlin gave a small nod and after a final nudge from Cenred, followed Arthur into his cabin.

* * *

 

Agravaine had been quite insistent that Arthur couldn't go out on deck, and whilst Arthur knew his uncle was concerned for his wellbeing, he couldn't help but feel a little put out by his uncle's lack of faith in his ability _not_ to fall overboard.

Once he finally made it outside his cabin, it was to see a bit of a flurry of activity as someone was dragged to the edge of the boat. Arthur stepped nearer, wondering if he should help.

“What's happening?”

Cenred twisted round, a calm, helpful smile on his face.

“The boy was seasick,” he replied. “That's right, get it all up,” he added to the man.

As Cenred pulled the person upright, Arthur recognised him vaguely from the journey there. He was a skinny, dark haired man with outlandish ears and razor sharp cheekbones. Merlin, he seemed to remember his name was.

_Typical_ , he thought, _he looks like he'd be blown over in a breeze. No wonder he's seasick._

However, when Cenred began to take him away, there was something in Merlin's eyes that made him stop Cenred and lead the way to his cabin.

Once inside, with the door shut behind them, Arthur had to quickly grab Merlin as he stumbled, his pale skin almost white. Helping him to the bed, Arthur lay him down.

“If you're going to be sick,” he said quickly, “let me know, I'd rather it not go all over the covers.”

“I'll be sick where I like,” came the muffled, weak response, “prat.”

“Ex _cuse_ me?” Arthur said, turning to stare in disbelieve at the man. “What did you just call me?”

“Nothing,” Merlin replied innocently, turning to look at Arthur with sweet, beguiling blue eyes. Arthur found himself searching for words as he sought to gain the upper hand.

“I am the Prince of Camelot,” he said, the steel in his voice quickly dissipating as Merlin smiled.

“Doesn't mean you can't be a dollop-head,” came the cheeky response.

Arthur opened his mouth, then shut it. Then he frowned.

“What does that even mean?”

Merlin shrugged, grinning.

“Idiot,” Arthur said shortly.

“Big-head.”

“Fool.”

“Clot-pole.”

Arthur spluttered to a halt. “That's not even a word!” he protested.

Merlin was about to respond when the ship gave a sudden lurch sideways. Arthur grasped the desk to stay steady and watched as what little colour had returned to Merlin's face quickly disappeared.

He looked out the window to see dark clouds swirling up. The waves were getting bigger. A storm was on its way.

“You should rest,” he said shortly, the cheerfulness that had swelled up inside him, quickly evaporating.

Merlin was quiet, shifting slightly on the bed to get comfortable. After a moment however, he spoke again.

“You didn't look back.”

It wasn't a question, but a statement, and from the way Merlin said it, Arthur knew that he understood why.

“Neither did you,” he responded.

Merlin fell silent again, and the next time Arthur looked over, it was to see Merlin had fallen asleep, curled over on his side, his face soft and open.

Arthur wondered why it was that fate had chosen someone so … _innocent_. Why must Merlin be one of the ones to die? Surely he couldn't have ever done anything wrong in his life? All flailing limbs, big ears and bright, beautiful smiles …

_Don't get attached_.

Arthur tensed his shoulders then released them, exhaling and looking away from Merlin. He, like Arthur, was just another one from many, another unfortunate soul. And no amount of wishing, or thinking on the contrary, would change their fate.

He hoped Merlin wouldn't die in pain. That it would be quick for him when it came. He had wished the same for himself, selfishly, many times. But wishing it for someone else made Arthur strangely sorrowful. Merlin didn't deserve this. None of them did.

He dropped into the chair, propping his head up on his fist and watching the sea out the window as it rolled and rocked. Exhaustion from a difficult and tiring day swept upon him and he found his eyes closing. Before he knew it, he was asleep.

* * *

 

With the first crack of lightning over the stormy sea, Merlin woke with a start. The cabin that had been sunny and welcoming was now dark, and outside the window, the sea rolled in great towering waves. The ship lurched sideways and Arthur also woke, shooting upright from where he had been sat in his chair. He took a moment to steady himself, blinking away sleep before focusing on Merlin.

“Are you alright?” Arthur asked. “Not seasick?”

Merlin shook his head. Truth be told, he hadn't been seasick in the first place, but Cenred's threat rang too loudly in his head for him to divulge what had really been happening. Plus, Arthur didn't need to be bothered about it, it wasn't his fault, and there was hardly anything he could do on a boat in the middle of the sea, outnumbered ten to one. He wondered what Arthur might do if he _did_ know. He remembered Arthur approaching as Cenred had held him against the edge of the ship, looking something like a knight in shining armour or maybe a guardian angel.

“I should be going,” he said hoarsely, sitting up on the bed and untangling his legs from the covers. He didn't want to leave. The cabin, whilst overly lavish and fitted with comforts more expensive than his whole home, felt warm and soft. A small hideaway from the harsh reality only just outside the door.

Arthur looked for a moment like he was going to stop him, but then he nodded.

Merlin didn't really know what had come over him before, he put it down to giddy, lightheadedness from having the air knocked out of him. The easy, light banter which had sprung up between he and Arthur had been something he'd never experienced before. He'd only had such easy conversation with Will before, and for him to pick it up with a stranger, and the Prince of Camelot at that … He found himself at a loss for words in that moment, however, as he got up, wincing slightly as the lash marks from earlier burned, and made his way unsteadily to the door.

“I'll …” He broke off as he turned and discovered Arthur watching him intently. “ … see you later,” he finished lamely.

Arthur cleared his throat. “Of course.”

Merlin looked away quickly, Arthur's silhouette highlighted perfectly against the stormy backdrop outside. Merlin tried not to notice Arthur's jaw, firm and strong, and the perfect line of his shoulders.

Their eyes met for the briefest moment. Merlin found it hard to breathe.

He wasn't entirely sure how he made it out of that cabin, all thoughts of not getting attached to people, not letting people in, strangely wiped from his mind. Beyond the cabin, he stepped out uncertainly onto the deck, rain stinging his cheeks and the wind catching him off balance. The storm brought him back to reality with a less than gentle bump.

The deck was in a form of controlled chaos, the soldiers rushing everywhere, trying to keep the ship under control as the storm battered down.

A hand thudded down on Merlin's shoulder and he looked sideways to see Cenred.

“Did you say anything?” he asked, his voice a strange combination between a yell and a whisper over the noise of the storm.

Merlin shook his head in response. The ship gave another violent lurch and Cenred's hand on his back caused the lash marks to burn once more.

Cenred didn't say anything after that as he pulled Merlin across the deck to the hatch and the stairs below. The stairs were slippery and slick with water and Merlin almost lost his footing as Cenred pushed him down.

Down below was almost pitch black and the floor ran with water. It was freezing, and every time the ship crashed through a new wave, a spray of water shot through a hole in the planking.

When he'd first looked at the ship, he'd thought it looked fine, beautiful in fact. Now it was nothing but dark, wet and cold.

Lancelot was huddled close to one of the beams, his clothes soaked and his expression closed off as Cenred forced Merlin down and reattached his shackles.

With that, Cenred left and Merlin crawled close to his friend.

“Are you ok?” he asked softly.

Lancelot nodded, uncurling from his foetal position and looking at Merlin.

“Are you?” he asked.

Merlin nodded, the events of the past few hours washing over him, but he beat them back. It was over now.

“What did they do to you?” Lancelot asked, peering at Merlin's back in the half-light. Merlin guessed he could see a trace of the lashings.

“Nothing I can't deal with,” Merlin replied shortly.

Lancelot looked hurt to be shut off so Merlin sighed and recounted a quick version of what Cenred had forced him to do. He kept his voice low, even there was really no need to with the howling of the wind, and left out Arthur. He didn't want him involved.

“Let me see?” Lancelot asked, gesturing to Merlin's back.

Reluctantly, Merlin turned and shuffled closer to Lancelot, shivering as Lancelot lifted up his shirt. Lancelot hissed in anger before gently running a thumb over one of the welts.

“There's no skin broken,” he said, “but they're going to hurt.”

“They already hurt,” Merlin quipped.

Lancelot scowled and let Merlin's shirt drop back. “They're animals.”

Merlin didn't respond. He agreed wholeheartedly with Lancelot, and the thought that so many had gone through this before them, going miserably to their deaths made him sick.

He looked around the group. They were all huddled up, together or by themselves, clearly trying to find some warmth or shelter in the cold and wet.

“I think they're all asleep,” Lancelot said quietly, following Merlin's gaze. “We thought they might feed us, but we gave up hoping in the end.”

At the far end of the deck, some others whom Merlin didn't recognise, were sat.

“Who are they?” he asked, nodding towards the people in question. They hadn't joined in with Gwaine's conversation before and they seemed unfamiliar even from the previous night and tribute celebrations.

“That one's called Leon,” Lancelot said, indicating a curly haired man curled up near Morgana, “then there's Borden, didn't like the look of him much.”

He was a small man with dark hair from what Merlin could see.

“Then Valiant by the stairs, and Aredian in the corner. Neither of them have said much, but they talked to Cenred so I wouldn't trust them with a lance pole.”

Merlin grimaced. “Guess it's not all going to be fun and games when we get to Ascetir.”

“Was it ever going to be?” Lancelot responded with a feeble attempt at a laugh.

“It seems stupid to hope, that maybe this year we'll be the ones to get out, that we'll survive ...” Merlin let his ramblings fade out and was surprised when Lancelot clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“It's not stupid to hope,” he said, his whole expression sincere, “we'd all be liars if we said we hadn't hoped for as much.”

Merlin gave him a nod of thanks.

“We should try to sleep,” Lancelot said after a moment, “we don't know what they'll want us to do tomorrow.”

They lay down, keeping close for warmth and backs turned to the water spraying in from the side of the ship. Despite having slept earlier, Merlin was once again tired, the sleep coming easier and quicker than he had expected, escaping the nightmare of the storm.

* * *

 

By the time morning came, the storm had passed and the ship was once again sailing well, a good wind to fill its sails and the sun out overhead drying the deck.

Arthur wanted terribly for the ship to slow down, the strong wind was only getting them to their doom faster. He was walking on the deck, subconsciously watching the empty horizon for land that he knew wouldn't be there yet. Ascetir was still another day and night's sailing away. Agravaine was busy at the helm and Cenred ordering men about amidships. The other sailors seemed too busy to talk or just unwilling. Arthur didn't blame them. He didn't know how any of them did it, sailed this route every year to deliver more poor souls to their deaths.

He went up the stairs to the bridge where his uncle was at the wheel.

“Where are the other tributes?” he asked. “Surely they'd welcome the opportunity to get some air? Especially after the storm.”

Agravaine frowned, seemingly concentrating on the steering.

“I think Cenred said they were still asleep,” he replied vaguely.

“What, all of them?”

Agravaine blinked and then shrugged. “I'm sure they'll come up when they're ready, Arthur.”

His thoughts on Merlin, Arthur turned for the stairs. “I'll go and get them now.”

“Arthur-”

Arthur ignored his uncle's call, presumably something about not mingling with people below his status. Surely Agravaine knew by now that he simply wasn't bothered? That they were all in this together.

Cenred caught up with him as Arthur went for the hatch.

“Sire … where are you going?”

“I was going to fetch the other tributes,” Arthur said, sure he wasn't mistaken when he thought he saw worry in Cenred's eyes. “They should have some air after the storm.”

Cenred was about to respond, but Arthur had already pulled the hatch up, stepping down.

He frowned, confused at the darkness and the strong smell of the sea.

“Hello?” he asked quietly.

For a moment there was a pause then a woman's voice spoke out, heavy with derision and sarcasm.

“So the prince deigns to come and see his subjects.”

As his eyes adjusted to the light, Arthur worked out that he could see figures huddled against the walls, wet and bedraggled and … were those chains?

“What is it princess? The smell too much for you?” It was the same woman who had spoken before. Her green eyes sparkling in malice, her chin high despite her wet hair and ruined clothes.

Arthur gaped as his gaze moved from one tribute to the next. Eyes filled with either fear or contempt met his own, and he felt slightly sick. How could he have been so blind to have thought they were all being treated as well as he? What was Agravaine thinking?

“I had no idea ...” he stammered feebly.

The next moment he was charging back up the stairs to the main deck where he was met with Agravaine, Cenred and what appeared to be half the crew.

“What's the meaning of this?” he asked loudly, gesturing down at the darkness through the hatch.

Agravaine shuffled slightly before raising his eyes, not quite meeting Arthur's eyes.

“We've had tributes who have tried to throw themselves overboard before, it's precautionary,” he said, his smile trying to be placating but Arthur was far too furious.

“And I'm not a risk? Anyway, it doesn't matter! It's no reason to treat them so!”

Cenred hid a smile and Arthur felt like he'd been very firmly misled. They'd … they'd been _enjoying_ it.

“Why didn't you do it to me then?” he asked, turning on his uncle who appeared to have at least a little amount of guilt. “If you didn't care about them what would my status matter here?”

His questions were met without answers.

“I bet you were all laughing, the pampered prince too stupid to see what was in front of him!”

Cenred's face gave him all the answers he needed.

He raised his chin, defiant and true.

“Let them out, feed them, treat them like _human beings_.”

His demand was met with small chuckles and eye rolls.

Agravaine gave the smallest of smiles. Mocking, like he was dealing with a small, naïve child.

It only made Arthur angrier.

“Fine then. Put me down there with them. Chain me up. There's no need to hide it any more, you're all animals, now you may at least stop pretending.”

Agravaine looked to Cenred who shrugged, looking pleased with a smile on his face.

“As you wish, sire,” he said, gesturing towards the hatch.

With a last glare towards his uncle, Arthur went down the steps ahead of Cenred.

Cenred pushed Arthur up against the wall, grabbing a free set of chains and fastening them to Arthur's wrists.

Arthur tried to remain defiant, maintaining a heavy glare in Cenred's direction as he bent down to chain Arthur's ankles.

When he stood back up, it was to give Arthur a swift punch in the guts. Arthur doubled over, coughing, winded.

“You don't know how long I've waited to give you what you deserve,” Cenred said menacingly.

Arthur laughed through his pain.

“I'm on my way to _Ascetir_ , Cenred, there's really not much you can do to me which'll seem bad in the face of that.”

Cenred narrowed his eyes. “Just you wait and see,” he spat back, knocking Arthur to the floor and then turning and leaving, taking the steps quickly upwards before dropping the hatch and throwing the deck into darkness.

* * *

 

Merlin couldn't help but sigh at Arthur's actions. He guessed the man was too proud, too self-righteous to let others suffer. Couldn't he have just turned a blind eye? How had his standing up to Agravaine and Cenred done any of them any good? All it meant was that now, if Cenred decided to beat him again, no one would intervene and there'd be no soft cabin for him to recuperate in.

He couldn't see the prince well from where he was sat next to Lancelot. Arthur was chained up next to Aredian and Valiant and appeared silent, staring at his hands in self-contemplation.

The rest of the group had acknowledged Arthur's appearance with murmurs of interest, but remarkably had said nothing. Maybe they shared Merlin's view. It changed nothing and certainly didn't make anything better.

The day rolled on as the ship rolled on over the sea. The tributes were quiet, the realisation settling that with every passing minute they were nearer to Ascetir, nearer to their deaths.

Around midday Merlin guessed, but he thought it must be pretty close, Cenred appeared down through the hatch once more.

He seemed to assess each tribute again, choosing his victim before he once again swooped upon Merlin.

“Hey,” Lancelot spoke up, “take someone else, he's been through enough.”

“Don't Lancelot,” Merlin muttered.

“No, no,” Cenred said as he pushed Merlin towards the stairs, “pretty boy shouldn't be alone.” He nodded to one of the soldiers. “Bring the prince too.”

Merlin avoided Arthur's eyes as the guard dragged him up and then forced him up the steps behind Merlin.

Out in the bright sunlight, the soldiers were waiting, their expressions excited, eager.

Merlin felt Arthur still beside him.

“Just … don't react,” Merlin muttered as he was pushed into the middle of the ring of onlookers.

“Right, pretty boy,” Cenred said, stepping forward, a new whip in hand, “you know the drill. Time to dance.”

It was a cruel repetition of the previous day, but with every turn, Merlin saw Arthur's face and felt the sting of the whip across his back.

He wasn't quite sure what he had done to deserve this …

“What the hell do you think you're doing?!” Arthur was shouting. Men were holding him back as the others laughed and continued to make sport of Merlin's humiliation and pain.

Cenred was stepping closer, the lashes falling harder and harder on Merlin's back until suddenly he felt a searing pain from shoulder to hip. He arched his back, a strangled cry wrenching itself from his throat as he fell to his knees. As he gingerly reached his hand up to his back, his fingers returned tainted with blood.

Cenred's hand closed itself around his throat and lifted him up. Merlin choked and struggled against Cenred's crushing grip.

“Stop it! Just stop it!” Arthur was yelling himself hoarse as he strained against the men holding him back.

“You seemed to form such a bond yesterday, sire,” Cenred replied mockingly, “I was sure you'd want to be with Merlin.”

He returned his gaze to Merlin, his eyes burning with hatred.

“You deserve this you know? It's what comes to people like you. People who are nothing. You are nothing.”

Merlin was too busy in trying to breathe to formulate a response, and when Cenred released him, he dropped to the deck, retching and taking the air in in great gasps.

“Take his clothes off,” Cenred ordered his men, “there's still much pleasure to be had here.”

A moment later, Cenred was knocked backwards off his feet and Arthur flew at him. They both hit the deck next to Merlin, Arthur on top, already raising an arm to strike Cenred.

Cenred rolled, shifting Arthur's weight off him until he was able to knock Arthur's strike away. He tackled Arthur in the midriff, taking him down and using his weight to pin Arthur to the wood planks. Merlin reached out helplessly.

* * *

 

Arthur turned his head away from the strike, which was powerful enough to knock a man unconscious. He blinked away his dizziness, gasping at the pain and trying to focus as Cenred's fist came swinging towards him again. Stars erupted in front of his eyes and for the briefest moment everything turned to black before he forced himself back to consciousness.

“You don't know how long I've waited for this, Pendragon,” Cenred spat.

He raised his fist again and Arthur closed his eyes against the coming blow. When it did not come, however, he opened his eyes to see Merlin, beautiful, gorgeous, stupidly foolish Merlin, who had caught Cenred's arm and was holding it in place with a fierce determination.

“You do not hurt him,” he growled.

Cenred glanced up at the other men who all appeared to just be watching the scene unfold, something of amusement in their gazes.

His anger boiled over in a flash and with his free arm, he punched Merlin across the jaw. Merlin fell back with a yelp, followed by a muffled scream of pain as his wounded back hit the deck.

Cenred grinned.

He was about to turn his attention back to Arthur when above them, up in the crow's nest, was a shout.

“Land! Land!”

Cenred was on his feet in a moment, pushing through the men to get to the front of the ship.

Struggling upright, Arthur looked forwards also, to see the small, dark island on the horizon. His heart fell. The storm must have pushed them faster along their route than they had anticipated.

Ascetir was waiting.

“Such a shame,” Cenred said, returning and gesturing for the men to haul Arthur and Merlin to their feet. “I was just beginning to enjoy myself.”

He walked to Merlin's side, running the back of his hand down Merlin's jaw making him flinch away.

“If you manage to survive,” he said softly, “I'll make sure I'm on the boat to welcome you back.”

He stepped away and Arthur bristled with anger, deep set fury boiled to the surface and he wished he'd managed to wipe the smile off Cenred's face when he'd had the chance.

Cenred walked away, giving instructions to bring the others up onto the deck.

Arthur's eyes turned to the horizon where Ascetir was growing steadily nearer. From this distance, he could see a great mountain at the centre of the island and forest covering its surface, right up to the stony peak of the mountain.

“Yep,” said one of the men who was restraining him, “that's Ascetir.”

Merlin, he noticed, was also watching the island, his pale face even paler and he wasn't straining against his captors holds, simply standing numbly, chewing his lower lip.

“It's going to be ok,” Arthur offered, as helpfully as he could.

Merlin responded with a hollow laugh.

“No it's not,” he responded, “no it's really not.”

Arthur lips parted in surprise in Merlin's lack of faith.

“Merlin-”

He was cut off by Agravaine's orders.

“Have them line up on the port side. Ready the ladders.”

Merlin was dragged away to stand at the other end of the line of tributes. Arthur noticed a dark haired man reach out to comfort Merlin for his injuries, but Merlin just brushed him off.

What had changed?

Arthur knew he'd been telling himself not to get attached, and whilst he himself had failed spectacularly, he guessed Merlin must be trying to do so.

It wasn't going to be easy. The following days, weeks, maybe even months, were going to present challenges and decisions he didn't want to consider.

Merlin, he presumed, wanted to go it alone.

Maybe that would make it easier in the end? Arthur didn't know, _nobody_ knew.

No one came back from Ascetir.

There was silence on the ship except for the creaking of the masts and the crew as they readied the ladders.

The tributes were all silent. No one clearly having anything to say in the face that it was really happening now. Ascetir was there, right in front of them, a place none of them had ever visited, except in nightmares.

“This is it, ladies and gentlemen,” Agravaine suddenly called out, “this is as far as we go. Can you see anyone on the shoreline?”

For a moment, Arthur thought he heard concern in his uncle's voice until he realised it was just mocking. Some of the crew laughed.

“No, it appears none of last year's made it through.” He gave a sigh of fake sorrow and Arthur ground his teeth.

“Just remember, though,” Agravaine continued, stepping down from the bridge and walking along the line of tributes, “if you do happen to survive, we'll be here to pick you up next year.”

The anchor went off the side of the ship with a splash and Agravaine gestured for the ladders to be thrown over.

Arthur gauged the distance from ship to land and realised there was quite a distance they had to swim. He wondered if everyone would make it.

“After you, _sire_ ,” Agravaine said, gesturing to the ladder in front of him. Arthur met his uncle's gaze with cold indifference.

“If I make it through alive,” he said quietly, “just know that as soon as I get back to Camelot, you're finished.”

Agravaine only smirked. “ _If_ you make it through.”

Arthur shook his head, having nothing more to say to his traitor of an uncle.

Carefully, he clambered up onto the railing, but instead of climbing down the ladder, he simply took a flying leap and dived in.

The water was cool, but not cold, the climate obviously warm enough to ward off the icy chill that kept at the shore off Camelot. It was dark under the surface and Arthur held his breath for as long as he could before kicking upwards towards the surface.

As he broke the surface and took in a great gasp of air, he looked back towards the ship. Someone else was already in the water and another was climbing down the ladder.

He waited for a time, treading water, and watching to make sure no one would have trouble in the water. No one seemed to, however, and once Merlin, the last tribute, had made it into the water and was swimming towards the shore, Arthur struck out with steady, even strokes.

The tributes swam into a cove where great rocky cliffs rose up on either side. The bay was fairly shallow and before long, Arthur found he could touch the sandy bottom.

Ahead, the first of the group had reached the shore, walking up the beach and looking around.

By the time Arthur reached the beach, the entire group except for Merlin had made it to the shore. Arthur looked around, noticing how many of the others wouldn't meet his gaze and he felt strangely lonely.

“Right then.” It was a man who had spoken, he was tall and had curly hair and he looked around the group with a mixture of uncertainty and pain. “Good luck everyone.”

Arthur's mouth opened as the man turned and headed for the forest which ran along the edge of the beach. Others moved after him, heading along the beach in groups or pairs or simply by themselves.

Arthur stood frozen in surprise.

“Shouldn't we …” He faded out as he realised it was just he and Merlin left. Merlin had just reached the beach, dripping wet and his hair plastered across his forehead. He brushed it out of his eyes and regarded Arthur evenly.

“Shouldn't we stay together?” Arthur asked with a confused shrug.

Merlin grimaced. “Every man for himself,” he responded bitterly.

Arthur blinked. Through the entrance to the cove, he could see the ship, fast heading away from the island.

“It doesn't have to be like that,” he pointed out. He reached out and grasped Merlin's arm. “Look Merlin … would you …”

Merlin shook his head, cutting Arthur off before he finished.

“Look, Arthur, I'm sorry. Thank you for everything you did on the ship … but … I think it's best if we go it alone.”

Arthur slowly retracted his grip. They stood, frozen for a moment, caught in the moment, Arthur’s breath hitched in his throat and he search Merlin’s face for something, anything, that would suggest Merlin was feeling this too. This strange ... _connection._ Merlin looked away and Arthur swallowed, trying to hide his disappointment.

“Right then,” he said.

Merlin gave him a nod and then turned his back, heading up the beach towards the forest.

Arthur was left standing, ankle deep in water and alone.

_So whatever happens Arthur, whatever you must do. Do it. Do whatever you have to, to come home._

His father's words rang true and clear in his head. After a moment, he shook himself and then started moving. His duty to the kingdom came first; he had to make it home alive.

Every man for himself? So be it. 


	2. Chapter 2

Merlin walked for a long time through the forest, subconsciously letting his magic wander and raise protection where it was needed. Nothing happened however, the forest was cool and calm, quiet but for the noises of the birds and small animals. Merlin didn't have to defend against wild beasts or raining fire, in fact, he wasn't sure what he was protecting himself against.

He didn't let his guard down however, whilst he may not know what might come at him, he'd sensed the magic back on the beach, the sudden, cloying, suffocating magic. Magic meant to divide and break down. That was why everyone had walked off, abandoning their fellow tributes by no will of their own.

He'd fought it off, but had had to walk away from Arthur. He hadn’t wanted to. Being with Arthur made him feel safe, made him feel at home even on this island at the end of his life.

_ You’ve only just met him. It’s nothing. _

He shook his head to clear it of confusing thoughts, he knew there was something he had to do and there was no point waiting, he didn't want others involved and could see no point in delaying himself. He could sense her, sense her magic.

He needed to seek Nimueh out.

He'd known, perhaps from the moment Kilgharrah had given him the grave advice,  _ stay alive _ , that he'd have to tackle Nimueh head on and maybe take her down. There was no way he, no way anyone there would survive, if he did not. 

Maybe he had something of a death wish, and he chuckled to himself lightly as he kept walking. This probably wasn't the most practical way of going about  _ not _ getting killed. But he had to do something. That much was clear. 

The forest was lush, the ground a soft carpet of leaves and moss and through the trees, Merlin could hear running water in the small brooks and streams that ran through the woods.

The ground was steadily rising as he walked, following the trace of Nimueh's magic that wound through the trees. The canopy wasn't too dense and sunlight still permeated the leaves, dancing across the ground as a faint breeze trailed across the forest.

Pausing at a stream, scooping up a handful of water and purifying it with his magic, he took a drink, looking around as he did so.

He hadn't seen any of the other tributes, no other humans were in sight and as Merlin scooped up another handful of water, he hoped they were ok.

Carrying on, the terrain took a steep upward climb, the ground becoming stony and rocky underfoot and the trees more gnarled and twisted, forced to grow over rock.

He came to an abrupt stop at the edge of a very sudden, very steep cliff. The ground fell away in a dizzying drop into darkness. It was a gully, a line drawn across the land and the opposite side was just over a metre away across the great, yawning gap, just too wide to jump. It was as if the land had been torn in two and Merlin lingered on the edge, looking down into the darkness, it seemed to call to him somehow, drawing him downwards, over the edge.

He stumbled, caught himself, and windmilled his arms frantically to stop himself from falling over the edge. He shook his head, now sensing the dark magic that had reached up from the crevasse below, thick cold tendrils that sank back into the darkness as his head cleared. He staggered backwards, his head spinning as he realised how close he had come to simply throwing himself over. He walked backwards away from the edge until he could convince himself he was safe, back against a tree, and then he sank to the ground, breathing heavily.

“Well done,  _ Merlin _ .” The voice made him leap to his feet, spinning around, eyes wide as he sought out the speaker. 

It was a woman, her dark, straight hair framing her face and lips a bright, vibrant red. The red dress she wore was tattered and torn and swept over the ground as she stepped closer to Merlin.

Merlin backed away, conscious of the gully behind him. His mind worked out the only logical explanation of who she was.

“Nimueh,” he stated, trying to stand his ground, sensing the tendrils of dark magic already rising out of the abyss, trying to drag him back down.

She gave a soft, high laugh.

“They said you were powerful, I had no idea how so. Not many step away from the abyss.”

She stepped past Merlin to the edge, looking down and smiling.

“It's a strange thing, kind almost, most don't even realise they're falling.”

Merlin shivered, the dark magic at his back making his skin crawl. Nimueh was in touching distance, and for a moment, he had a wild idea of simply pushing her over the edge.

As if she had followed his thoughts, Nimueh stepped away, a cruel smile twisting her lips.

“The prophets have spoken of you for a long time,” she said softly, “your power, your might. They have foretold you restoring the balance, healing the world's wounds. But are you really that strong?”

The next moment, Merlin found himself suspended over the dizzying drop below.

He gasped and flailed, his magic swirling up to protect him. Nimueh stretched out her hand, her eyes glowing and Merlin felt a tightness around his throat and his vision began to go dim. He swatted away her choking spell with a strand of his own magic and for a moment, Nimueh's smile fell. Merlin made a cushion of his magic around him, wary of the fact that he needed to catch himself if Nimueh decided to let him fall.

The next second she did, and Merlin had a brief sensation of weightlessness before his magic kicked in and halted his descent with a jolt.

He'd stopped only a few metres below the edge of the crevasse and he guided himself to the stone wall, making sure he had a secure grip on the stone before he let his magic fall away. He was slightly breathless, the strain of using so much power a new sensation to him. Back in Ealdor, it had been nothing more than simple tricks and spells, getting a book to float across to him if it was just out of reach, or preventing a plate from cracking if he knocked it off the table. This however, this was new. And it was exhausting.

Above him, Nimueh laughed, a gleam of something that could be called excitement in her gaze.

“You are good, but your magic is untrained and untested. It takes a long time to master one's power and understand the true extent of it. You are a child, playing and meddling, simple tricks, nothing more. A boy soldier playing with daddy's sword.”

Merlin struggled, the ledge he'd balanced himself on, not quite wide enough. He sucked in shallow breaths, avoiding looking down and mastering his magic again to give him a boost upwards.

Nimueh, on the edge of the crevasse, watched with interest as he began to climb, his magic an invisible harness around himself in case he should fall.

It felt like an eternity before he rolled over the top edge onto the grass and solid ground. He sat up, his head spinning and his breaths coming in weak, wheezing rasps.

“I think I'll let you live,” Nimueh said, her tone mockingly thoughtful, “just imagine all the fun I could have in a year?”

Merlin shivered under her ice blue gaze, looking away from her. All his life, he'd heard stories of Nimueh, the wicked, evil, twisted witch who had brought misery and suffering to Camelot. Stories met with tales of all that Uther had done during the purge. Yes, Uther had killed many, many innocent people, but that didn't make what Nimueh had done to be right.

Nimueh knelt down in front of him, her gaze quizzical.

“I see your thoughts,” she said, tilting her head on one side. “You believe Uther to be innocent.”

“No,” Merlin retorted quickly, “never.”

“Yet you seek to bring an end to all that I have achieved here.”

It was Merlin's turn to frown. “Of course,” he said, anger bubbling up in his veins, “you're killing innocent people.”

“As did Uther,” Nimueh spat back.

“And to what end?” Merlin growled, “all this bloodshed, what will it ever achieve?”

“It will bring Uther to his knees and give him all the pain he deserves.”

“You've got enough power to raze Camelot to the ground,” Merlin said, “why like this? Why hold back?”

“Because this way is better. Slowly, painfully, Uther will watch his precious kingdom fall, watch his friends and people turn against him. He will know how it felt to watch his kin die. He will know all the pain that I, that  _ our _ people felt. He would destroy our kind without a thought and you think he deserves any less?”

“Killing never achieves peace.”

Nimueh laughed, getting up and walking away.

“So naïve, Merlin!”

Merlin swallowed and got to his feet.

“Maybe there's nothing wrong with that?” he asked, ignoring how his voice was shaking. He wasn't sure if it was with fear or anger.

Nimueh smirked. The smile quickly faded however to be replaced with cold anger.

“You do not have the sight, Merlin, you have not seen what I have seen. Where in the future  _ you _ ally with the Dragon King.”

Merlin snorted in derision.

“I will never ally with Uther.”

“No, you won't,” Nimueh responded lightly, “because I will kill you before that day ever comes.”

Merlin got to his feet, Nimueh's threat settling heavy on his skin. He raised his head, determined to stand his ground.

“Do it now then.”

He wasn't sure really, anymore, what he wanted. Nimueh's demise, Uther's destruction, his own success … he wasn't even sure what he had come to Ascetir fighting for.

“No, Merlin,” Nimueh responded, “no. Slow and painful, remember? One day you will turn on your kind and as a traitor,  _ you _ deserve no less than to see all you love and cherish burned before you.”

“If you ever harm my family,” Merlin began, the air around him crackling with loose magic.

“You'll what?” Nimueh smirked.

Merlin raised a hand, a ball of lethal fiery flame burning within it. As he was about to release it, however, Nimueh disappeared before him. With her disappearance, his anger diminished also, the flame in his hand flickering and receding to nothing more than a pale opalescent light.

As he looked, a dragon seemed to dance and rear within it.

Something warm woke up inside him. He found a new sense of purpose. Nimueh had made a move, had made her threat … but for now, she wasn't here. Perhaps, if he were going to die, and in the current situation it seemed likely, he could,  _ should _ , do something before the end. He guiltily thought of the others, whom he'd abandoned on the beach, who he'd pushed away. Lancelot had just been trying to be kind. 

He had to do something.

Raising his hand towards the sky, he sought out the magic that had forced the others to separate. He found it soon, its tendrils spreading like a net over the island, still feeding its twisted corrupted thoughts to the other tributes. Closing his eyes and summoning his power, Merlin sent it shooting upwards, spiralling and twisting round the tendrils of dark magic. He tugged, hard.

After a moment, when he thought the net wouldn't break, it suddenly did, the magic receding and flickering away.

Merlin opened his eyes with a delighted gasp. He knew, somewhere, Nimueh had felt what he had done. He knew she would know he had broken her enchantment. He knew she would understand.

He wasn't going down without a fight.

* * *

Arthur sat down under a tree, the daylight waning overhead and below the cover of the trees, it was beginning to grow dark. The beach was still in sight beyond the edge of the forest. He was hesitant to leave it, it felt familiar, and, if any of the others were to come back to their senses and realise they were better off together, the beach would surely be the first place they would look.

Although he would never admit it, the future daunted him more than a little. In actuality, being there on Ascetir, he found himself tensed and afraid of some unknown threat. No one knew, no one knew what was out there, what they would have to face. Nimueh would be here somewhere. Arthur had never faced magic, he didn't know what to expect, but he knew enough to be afraid.

He let his head fall back against the tree, noting the warmth still in the air even as the night came. His jacket was still on the ship and he wondered if he'd be warm enough once the sun disappeared completely. His shirt had soon dried from the swim, but the fabric was coarse against his skin from the salt in the water. A bird shifted in the branches above his head, making him jump. He'd been out on patrols with his father and with the knights, he knew what it was like to sleep out of doors with the threat of attack, but never alone and never unprotected. Finding the most pointed stick he could, he held it close to him as darkness fell. Just to have something with him that felt vaguely like a weapon was comforting. The forest was alive with the noises of birds and small animals, and every creak of a branch or rustle of leaves made Arthur wary. Eventually, however, tiredness overtook his alert state, his eyes beginning to droop and the noise of the waves on the beach lulling him into sleep.

He woke again sometime in the dead of night, barely able to see a foot in front of him. Turning his head and blinking to try to see something in the darkness, he tried to work out what had woken him.

The next moment he heard voices and his heart stopped. Without really thinking about it, he reached for his stick, taking a tight hold on it and silently getting to his feet.

The voices were coming from the beach, from what Arthur could tell, yet he couldn't be sure because it was just so  _ dark _ . 

“And why would we want you? You're more likely to get eaten than protect us,” one of the voices, a man's, spoke up.

“I can help, I swear, I know things,” a second, pleading voice broke in.

“Like what?” asked a third.

“Like about why everyone split up when we got here, about what dangers we could face that aren't just wolves and eagles,” the second voice replied, speaking fast as if feeling the need to make their point clear.

Arthur listened in, intrigued as to what the person was talking about. Had everyone split up for a reason? If so, why not him?

“Talk,” the first voice grunted.

“There will have been an enchantment on the beach, forcing us to split, I've seen something similar used before.”

“He's right,” the third voice broke in, “there are spells like that.”

“You use magic?” the first voice cut across them both.

There was a brief pause. Then someone laughed.

“Come on, don't pretend we haven't all.”

There was another short pause and then general noises of agreement.

“Except perhaps his royal princess, I'd say everyone on this island has used it at some point.”

There was laughter.

Arthur grew angry, tightening his hold on his stick. He stepped a little closer to the beach, wanting to know who these people were. Sorcerers. That he knew. They might not be in Camelot, but they were all citizens. He debated what they must think of being on Ascetir, here they were with their own people, the same people responsible for the near destruction of Camelot and the innocent victims of all the years that followed.

His musings were cut short however when a stick snapped beneath his foot.

“Who's there?” a voice called out from the beach.

Arthur cursed inwardly, stilling and watching the figures on the beach. He hoped the trees gave enough shadow to hide him.

“Might have just been an animal,” the second voice suggested, but the doubt was plain in his voice.

“Easy way to find out,” someone replied. “ _ Leoht _ .”

Light bloomed, sudden and fast, lighting up the tree line and throwing the figures on the beach into stark relief. Arthur recognised Aredian, who held the ball of light in his hand and Valiant who had been next to him on the ship and with them a shorter, dark haired man.

Upon seeing Arthur, the three broke into smiles.

“Sire, such a pleasure to meet you here,” Aredian said, his grin more of a bearing of teeth.

Arthur tilted his chin up, determined not to show fear.

“I can't say the same,” he responded cooly.

Aredian smirked, Valiant beside him folded his arms and cocked an eyebrow.

“So very proud aren't you, sire?” he asked.

“Needs to be taught a lesson,” the shorter man added.

Aredian looked at Arthur, as if waiting for his opinion on the matter. Arthur swallowed, sensing danger.

“I'm not going to fight you,” he said, trying to keep his voice level.

“Well then you better start running,” Valiant responded. The next moment, a fireball shot from Aredian's palm, blasting the tree behind Arthur into ashes.

Abandoning all sense of pride, his stick and his initial instinct to fight, Arthur ran.

He'd never been up against magic before. He preferred a foe you could tackle and know they weren't going to blast you off your feet from twenty paces. He'd never felt that coursing dread as he heard Valiant, Aredian and the other man behind him, laughing as they followed him. He'd never felt with such certainty that he wouldn't get away.

Another fireball landed close to him, making him jump out of the way to avoid being toasted. He could hear his pursuers catching up and over the noise of the fire, he heard Aredian shout another spell.

Ropes spun out of the darkness behind him and wrapped themselves around him, toppling him to the ground as he fought the bonds. They twisted round his ankles and wrists, some sliding over his chest and pinning him to the ground.

Above him, Aredian and the others came into his field of vision. Arthur stopped struggling and proceeded to simply glare up at them.

“Cowards,” he spat, “couldn't just fight me could you? Had to hide behind your magic.” He wasn't really thinking what he was saying, speaking more out of fear and humiliation.

“Well you were the one who said you didn't want to fight,” the shorter man said.

“That's because we're supposed to be in this together, try and seek a way out,  _ survive _ ,” Arthur responded, hissing with frustration. 

The ropes around him tightened, the ones over his chest pulling so tight he had difficulty breathing.

“You should learn, little prince, that for us, convicted for our use of magic all our lives, we would rather be here, than back in Camelot, forced into hiding, being hated for who we are.” A boot came down hard on Arthur's neck. Arthur writhed, seeing stars.

“You think magic is the curse on this land, it is not. It is you, your father, and people like you who think you're better, who think you have the right to condemn people for how they were born.”

The boot vanished, but Arthur was thinking too much on his breathing to formulate a reply.

He heard a murmured conversation, debating what to do with him.

Upon hearing Valiant's quiet suggestion of “Kill him?” he began to panic, pushing at the bonds restraining him. Aredian must have noticed because the ropes tightened once again, flaying the skin on his wrists and ankles.

“I'll do it,” Aredian said confidently, moving to stand over Arthur once more, hand raised towards him.

Another rope snaked out of thin air at Aredian's command and panic gripped Arthur as it began to snake around his throat. It drew tight suddenly, cutting off his airway and forcing his back to arch off the ground as he sought air that wouldn't come.

For some reason, his mind jumped to Merlin. He hoped he was ok.

Dimly, he was aware that Aredian was smiling.

A ragged scream broke through the clearing and suddenly the ropes binding Arthur were gone as Areidan was blasted backwards off his feet. Arthur scrambled backwards and sat up, facing Valiant and the other man as someone leapt over his head, landing in front of Arthur and brandishing a knife.

The short man looked wary, but Valiant just smirked.

“Get on your knees,” came the rough voice of Arthur's saviour.

“Whatever you say, princess,” came Valiant's response.

The next moment he was slammed to his knees by an unseen force. “Don't mock me.”

Through his foggy and still slightly oxygen deprived brain, Arthur realised two things. First, his saviour was a woman. Second, his saviour had magic.

“You should be on our side,” Valiant growled, eyes flashing darkly as he realised he couldn't stand, the woman's power obviously holding him down.

The woman knelt in front of him, the knife held threateningly against Valiant's throat.

“Even if I thought you had a point,” she said softly, “do you really think I'd side with someone as pathetic as you?”

Arthur struggled to maintain a straight face at the look of outright fury on Valiant's face.

The woman raised a hand and with a short, chanted spell, Valiant dropped to the ground unconscious.

The third man, meanwhile, had snuck around the woman and, picking up a stone, advanced on Arthur. Arthur launched himself forward, neither impeded by ropes or inability to breathe now. He tackled the man round the waist, bringing him down with a crash and managed to wrestle the rock from his hands. He brought the stone down to land heavily on the side of the man's head and his eyes immediately went glassy.

As Arthur stood, it was to find the woman watching him. He recognised her now, the person who had spoken to him on the ship when he had first descended into the other tribute's prison. Her raven hair was tied up in a messy bun behind her head and her clothes were looking even worse for wear than when she'd been on the boat. Her black pants were ripped and she'd deliberately torn her cape to create more of a jacket. She still held herself with both pride and defiance however, as she looked Arthur up and down, her eyes shining in the half-light.

“You're a sorcerer,” Arthur stammered out the first thought in his head.

She rolled her eyes, sheathing her dagger in her belt and folding her arms.

“Genius, sire.”

Arthur shifted, he wished people would stop calling him that. And what was she to expect anyway? He'd just been attacked and half strangled by magic only to be saved by someone with it. He rubbed his eyes, a pain building up in his temples.

“You saved me,” he added.

“Starting to wonder why,” came the clipped response.

Arthur blinked at her, confused.

“Why did you?” he asked.

It was here turn to shift with discomfort, avoiding his eyes.

“I have dreams, nightmares, visions, whatever you want to call them. I've seen you, one day you'll save us all. Figures someone needs to keep you alive until then.” She met Arthur's gaze sharply, something in her eyes that hinted at doubt.

“Save you?” Arthur asked dumbly.

“God help us all,” the woman responded with a roll of her eyes.

Arthur hesitated, torn at what to say. For a brief moment, before, it had only been about saving himself. The idea that one day he would save all the others … he breathed through the hard lump in his chest that felt too much like  _ destiny _ , and too much to bear. 

“Thank you,” he said eventually.

“Don't,” she responded, her tone barbed. “I don't need your thanks, less do I want it. Valiant was right, I should join the side of magic, should blast you into oblivion for everything you and your father have done to my kind. But I won't. And I don't feel proud of it so don't even begin to thank me.”

The rapid change that had over come her caught Arthur unawares. He once again found himself lost for words. All his life, he'd been taught that magic was evil, had watched his father condemn and execute those with magic. The idea that … that it could be good, was difficult to comprehend.

“I don't even know who you are,” Arthur said eventually, with a lack of something else to say.

“Morgana le Fay, yes,” she added as Arthur's head jerked up, “Gorlois' daughter. You're not the only nobility on this island.”

Arthur nodded in response. Weariness settling on his shoulders and the dim light making his eyes strain.

“Well, I was on my way to find the others when I was distracted with this rescue mission,” Morgana said, snapping the silence. “So I think I'll carry on. Feel free to wander, explore, take in the sights. Just don't wind up somewhere I'll have to save you again.”

Arthur was about to protest at her condescending tone, but when he remembered the ropes, cutting off his airway and the hopelessness that had filled him, he stayed silent.

“Here,” Morgana said with a sigh, and taking a thin branch from the ground, she took her knife and sharpened the tip into a far sharper point than Arthur would have achieved on his own.

She tossed it to Arthur when she was done and he caught it deftly, spinning it and feeling a little more settled with something that could be called a weapon in his grasp once more.

“Stay away from the beach. There's still magic there, and I'd try and be far away from these three when they wake up.”

Arthur had a million bursting questions. How powerful were Aredian and the others? How powerful was she? Why hadn't the spell on the beach worked on him?

Instead he just nodded and she stepped away, tightening the belt round her cape with her free hand and sheathing her knife with the other.

“I'll see you soon, I expect, you might need saving again.” The playing mocking smile made Arthur grind his teeth. He wasn't used to being beaten by his opponents, much less being saved. Then again, he also wasn't used to fighting magic.

He stayed there until Morgana had disappeared in the trees and warily surveyed his three unconscious assailants. He guessed he should heed Morgana's advice and get away, but he was just so  _ tired _ . He was glad it was warm, at least he wouldn't have to light a fire, but he desperately needed to sleep. 

On heavy footsteps, chest still aching from the ropes, he made his way through the forest, heading slightly uphill towards the mountain. He saw no one else in the faint light of the moon that made its way through the canopy, but in the shadows, any number of people and creatures could be hiding.

Nothing attacked him however and he gasped in relief when he found a small cave at the base of a hill, its entrance all but hidden by low tree branches and bushes. Pushing his way inside, he found it just big enough to stretch out in, and lying facing the opening, his stick pulled close, he quickly dropped off to sleep.

* * *

 

Merlin hadn't slept in what felt like days, however, that didn't stop him from continuing to steadily climb the mountain, like he had been since nightfall. He felt a need to find an advantage in height. Nimueh knew he had acted against her, he only hoped she made good on her threat and gave it time before she killed him. He needed to plan.

The ball of light he had conjured, floated beside him and threw everything into sharp relief. The craggy slope he was climbing was steep and he lost his footing a few times, scrabbling painfully against the rocks until his magic caught him. He'd been ascending the mountain for some time and paused to look out over the island and the water. The tree line was some way below him and below that, the moonlight cast streaks of white light over the water. It was very still, only a light breeze stirring the tops of the trees and ruffling his hair.

It was very quiet.

He carried on walking, the peak of the mountain looming above him and all too soon, it got in the way of the moon shadowing his path. Merlin let his light grow a little brighter, stones and rocks below his feet a dull grey and he eyed the rough crags below with caution. He should probably find somewhere to rest for the night.

Up ahead, the path opened out into a broad shelf of rock. A few spare trees clung to the rock, their roots a tangled mess jutting off the edge of the ledge. Sensing it was a good a place as any to sleep, Merlin sat down, his back pressed against the wall of rock and looked out from his vantage point.

His fear was further away now, Nimueh seemed at bay and there could be nothing on this island worse that her. His magic felt almost comfortable under his skin and as he curled up on himself, gathering sticks with a wave of his hand and lighting a fire, he felt a pang for home. He was lonely up on this high plateau and planned for the next day to seek out the other tributes. He could protect them, he reasoned, and so he should.

Weariness closed in over him and he fell asleep.

**OOO**

He woke with a jolt as the sky fell down on him. He yelled in panic, tried to stand up only to bash his head painfully against the rock and after a brief moment of eye watering pain, managed to focus on the scene before him.

The sky hadn't fallen down as he'd first thought, instead, lying crumpled writhing in pain on the edge of the shelf was a great dark eagle. Pressing his back up against the wall, Merlin eyed it warily. It seemed, for the moment, more concerned with its injuries than it did with him. Morning had broken, the sun bright and gold over the horizon, bathing his platform in light.

A shadow passed overhead, and looking up, Merlin saw five or six of the winged beasts circling the platform. They were hissing and cawing angrily at the fallen bird, their great wings causing the trees on the rock to sway back and forth dangerously.

The fallen bird lifted its head toward the sky and responded to the other bird's calls with a broken but determined hiss of his own. One of the birds dived upon the platform, great golden talons outstretch toward its kin.

“NO!” Merlin yelled, leaping forward, his hand stretched out. His eyes glowed gold and the attacking eagle was blasted backwards away from the platform. It whirled around in the air, yellow eyes pinned on Merlin. It hissed at him, then, to Merlin's great relief, called to its friends and they swooped away, out of sight beyond the peak.

Letting his nerves settle, Merlin looked toward the fallen eagle. One of its wings was badly gouged and dark blood seeped through its feathers. It looked towards Merlin, then seemed afraid and tried to shuffle away from him. Rocks on the edge of the ledge fell away and Merlin settled into a crouching, making, what he hoped were calming noises.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said sincerely.

The eagle surveyed him with one great, yellow eye then gave a half-hearted hiss before trying to move its wing. Its resulting scream of pain made Merlin tumble backwards in shock. He got back to his feet, wincing and edged closer, hands out, trying to calm the beast.

“It's ok, it's ok,” he said soothingly.

The bird panicked again, but realised it was too close to the edge to do anything.

“It's ok,” Merlin said, lowering his hand, attempting to pat the bird on the beak. A flash of gold and Merlin was forced to leap back once more as the bird made a good attempt to bite his hand off.

“Ok, you didn't like that, I get it!” Merlin protested, shaking with fright.

The bird hissed weakly once more before lying down, eyes closing, one wing folded close, the other stretched out, blood dripping from dark feathers.

Merlin stayed where he was, slightly away from the bird so there was no risk of it suddenly trying to eat him. Instead he reached out with his magic, letting it float toward the animal before pouring over its wound. The golden glow that the healing emitted was enough to make the bird open its eyes and then turn to look at Merlin.

It seemed to realise Merlin wasn't a threat, however, as he lowered his hand and the magic retreated. The bird sat up, stretching out its wing with a comical expression of surprise on its face. It reared up, wings reaching high into the sky as it let out a cry of delight and sprang from the cliff edge.

Merlin raced to the edge to watch as it dropped, wings pulled tight against its sides, before pulling out of the dive and soaring high up into the air, its wings casting the whole of Merlin's platform in darkness.

Merlin let a grin break out across his face, the eagle corkscrewing through the air. He'd done something good with his magic, it felt marvellous. He felt free.

The eagle had disappeared from view and Merlin hesitated on the platform, deciding what to do with his day. The sun had barely risen, but he felt he needed to be out there,  _ doing _ something. Perhaps he could find Lancelot. 

He was just heading for the path leading back down the mountain when he suddenly a shadow passed over him again and had but a moment's warning before a set of gleaming talons grabbed him from behind and he was swept over the edge.

His scream of terror was drowned out in the wind as the eagle rocketed upwards, Merlin in its grasp. The ground dropped away sickeningly fast and Merlin shut his eyes, praying the eagle didn't suddenly decide to … let go.

“ _ Don't worry, I never miss my prey. _ ”

Merlin gave a startled yelp, his eyes jerking open and he squirmed in the eagle's grip to look up into its eyes. The eagle had spoken to him.

“ _ What? Have you never had an animal speak to you before? I though you were Emrys – he of dragon-tongue. We eagles are not that different from dragons really. _ ”

Merlin was stunned silent, rocking in the eagle's grasp.

“ _ You can speak to me if you want. _ ”

“You know who I am,” Merlin blurted out eventually, wondering how the eagle would possibly hear him over the roar of the wind.

“ _ You are Emrys, Nature itself calls your name _ .”

Merlin squeezed his eyes shut.

“ _ You don't accept your destiny easily, _ ” the eagle commented. 

“It's … a big deal,” Merlin mumbled. The eagle caught his words and laughed in his head. It was the strangest sensation Merlin had ever experienced.

“ _ Maybe one day you will understand better, Emrys _ .”

“Please, call me Merlin.”

“ _ Of course, Merlin, and if you want, you can call me Freya. _ ”

“That's a nice name, Freya.”

“ _ Thank you _ .”

She suddenly turned into the wind, arching round the peak of the mountain.

“Where are we going?” Merlin asked.

“ _ My special place _ .”

“Those other eagles, why were they attacking you?”

Freya tensed, her talons digging into Merlin's chest briefly.

“ _ I am different, they can't accept that _ .”

“I … I know how you feel,” Merlin responded quietly.

“ _ When I was a child, I was cursed, each day I transform into eagle form, each night I turn back to human. I was outcast by my family and village and yet it seems even amongst eagle kind I am not truly welcome. _ ”

Merlin felt a pang of sympathy for her. He understood her pain, being outcast for something she had no control over.

They dropped towards the mountain peak, the stone coming up to meet them at an alarming rate. A shelf of rock, not unlike the one Merlin had slept on the previous night, appeared just below the peak. Freya swooped toward it and gently let Merlin down onto the stone. His legs felt wobbly after the flight, but he felt refreshed and light.

Freya landed on the rock, her talons scratching against stone before she turned and surveyed Merlin with her bright, yellow eyes.

“This is your special place?” Merlin asked, looking around with a smile. Small, broken trees had been piled together, forming a round shelter at the back of the platform and outside, a ring of stones showed where a fire was regularly lit.

“ _ It is the only place I feel safe. Most of the eagles don't venture up this high, and they know this is my place so they leave me alone _ .”

Merlin looked at her, trying to show her how much he felt for her. It must be a lonely existence.

“ _ Do not pity me, Merlin, I do not feel sorrow for myself. I feel free out here. _ ”

Merlin nodded his understanding and turned to look outwards, over the sea. The sun was properly rising now, the sea aglow with golden light that made his eyes hurt.

“Thank you for showing it to me,” Merlin said.

“ _ Thank  _ you, _ Merlin. You healed me. You saved me _ .”

“I'll stay here,” Merlin said suddenly, “I'll stay here with you, keep you company, at least for a little while.”

“ _ No, Merlin, you can't _ ,” came Freya's firm reply. “ _ I could not ask that of you. You have a destiny that is waiting to unfold. You are better off with real people _ .”

Merlin swallowed. “You don't deserve this.”

“ _ It is my fate, _ ” Freya snapped in response, “ _ as it is yours to free this land. You will not achieve that by hiding. _ ”

“I wasn't …” Merlin began in protest, but his words fell away, guilt washing over him. He'd wanted it, wanted so badly to just, be happy. Be safe, up here with Freya. Escape the worries the ground held and to live in the clouds. He may have been safe, but what of the others? Lancelot and the other tributes? He had the power to protect them, yet he was fleeing the danger.

He was brought back to the present by Freya, nudging him gently on the arm with her beak.

“ _ I thank you for what you said you would do for me, but your destiny, and your heart, lie back on the ground. I would think it my honour that I have met you. Now I must see it as my duty to send you on the path you must follow. _ ”

Merlin felt overwhelmed with multiple battling emotions. Sorrow, fear, confusion, but below it all, a realisation that he had to do the  _ right _ thing.

“ _ I will fly you to the ground _ ,” Freya said, taking to the air, Merlin once again in her talons. 

Merlin however, couldn't get over something she had said.

…  _ and your heart  _ … His destiny may be to save all, but he couldn't help but wonder who would be the one to whom he would give his heart.

* * *

 

The cave Arthur had slept in was sheltered from the sun and so it was almost mid morning by the time he woke. He stretched his stiff limbs and climbed slowly out into the daylight. The sun was warm even below the shade of the canopy above and Arthur noticed two things almost simultaneously, he was thirsty and incredibly hungry.

The food he'd had on the ship felt a long time ago and his stomach growled in earnest as Arthur's thoughts turned to what he could possibly eat. His gazed strayed to his stick, his only weapon.

Catching rabbits was going to be fun.

The sun passed almost directly overhead as Arthur fashioned a trap from vines and reeds. Once it was done he tested it, reset it and then walked away. He knew from experience that rabbits never got caught in traps whilst you were watching.

As he walked, he tenderly rubbed at the spot where the rope had burned across his throat the previous day. In doing so, his mind wandered to what Morgana had said to him.

_ One day you'll save us all _ . 

He always knew that his future would be an important. He was Crown Prince to the most powerful kingdom in the world. One day he would be, or at least,  _ would have  _ been, king. He would have ruled and led his people. But not only did Morgana's words give him a spark of hope that he had a future to come, they also called into question what his future would be like. From all he'd learned as he grew up and watched his father,  _ saving _ didn't seem the key quest of a king. 

Above him, birds suddenly started to fly away, calling out warning cries. Arthur looked up, a frown creasing his brow as he tried to work out what the danger was. A shadow swooped low overhead, but it had come and gone before Arthur could work out what it was. After a moment, bird song returned to the spot where he was standing, a sign that the danger had passed. He was tempted to follow the shadow, find out what had cast it, but caution gnawed at him, the rope burn over his neck seeming to tingle. He couldn't fight magic. The thought made him feel helpless.

He turned and walked determinedly in the opposite direction. He should find a more permanent place to rest, begin to build some defences, plan on how he was to survive.

The forest was far too bright, far too cheerful compared to the Ascetir of his nightmares. Perhaps this was part of the danger of the place, it lulled you into a false sense of security. No one survived from year to year, that much was clear and his stomach gave a sickening jolt as he thought about what might have killed the tributes. Nothing had attacked him yet except other tributes, was it possible they'd turned against each other every year? The other man with Valiant and Aredian had spoken about magic making them leave the beach. What if magic got involved again? Forcing them apart. He would have to be prepared, he realised, determined not to have his mind invaded.

* * *

 

Freya left Merlin on the beach. He had noticed how other birds and animals on the ground had fled from her presence as they flew over. He knew how much this must hurt Freya. She wasn't a monster.

“ _ Good luck, Merlin _ .”

Merlin nodded his thanks, gently reaching out to smooth a crumpled feather on her neck.

“Will I see you again?” he asked doubtfully.

“ _ Maybe _ ,” Freya responded, “ _ if you need me, I will know. I will come. _ ”

“If there was something I could do,” Merlin began, his voice catching in his throat at the sorrow in Freya's eyes.

“ _ You cannot save everyone, Merlin _ .”

With that, Freya spread her wings and took off, circling overhead for a moment, a dark shape against the bright sky and them she turned and swung away for the beach, heading back to the mountain.

_ You cannot save everyone _ . He hadn't saved any one yet.

Determined to help those he could, Merlin headed for the trees, retracing his steps from the day they had arrived. He wondered how far the other tributes would have spread, but realised that hopefully they would be returning to this point to meet one another. He'd taken Nimueh's enchantment away; they should be acting of their own free will now.

Underneath the canopy was cooler than the full sun of the beach and Merlin felt content as he walked through the forest, the magic simply oozing out of the ground around him and he felt alive within it.

The first odd thing that caught his eye was a strange patch of scorched earth, the burn marks over the ground and up the trunk of a tree. He knelt to peer at them, running his fingers over the tree trunk. He felt it then, no more than a whisper but definitely there, a faint trace of magic. He carried on, eyes searching for more signs of magic. He thought he had lost the trail when he suddenly stumbled into a clearing and stopped dead. Three men were there, ones he recognised from the ship. They were unconscious and after a moment of warily standing on the edge of the clearing, Merlin stepped forward, sensing the magic in the air and trying to work out what had happened.

He recognised Aredian, Valiant and Borden. He could sense the magic rolling off Aredian and kept an eye on him as he crossed the clearing, looking for signs of an attack from an animal or something.

There was none and as Merlin turned back to face the three unconscious tributes, the thought occurred to him that it might have been another person who did this. He discarded Nimueh as the potential attacker. After having her magic wrapped round his throat he was fairly certain he couldn't sense that darkness where he was stood. The magic seemed brighter, lighter and whilst it had been used to maim, he felt underlying currents of protection shimmering in the air.

Marvelling at how his magical perception had been heightened by simply being around magic, Merlin tried to determine whom the lighter magic belonged to. It was vibrant, and closing his eyes, he saw bright refreshing greens. No particular face came to mind, but he got a sense and clung to the hope it gave him, that the person who had used it had been good. That there was someone else out there on the island who was using magic for the right reasons.

He knew the thoughts were mainly naïve, childish hopes, but hope was something he was determined to hold onto.

Opening his eyes again, he made the decision to leave the clearing, Aredian and his companions inspiring no desire to help in Merlin. Aredian's magic was dark, twisted with misuse. The man scared Merlin and so he decided to quietly slip away.

His plan worked faultlessly until the moment he glanced back at the clearing, tripped and fell over a fallen tree, tumbling headfirst into a pond.

The resounding splash and his yelp of surprise was loud and as he surfaced, spitting pond water from his mouth, he nervously looked back at the tributes. He couldn’t quite see them, the fallen tree restricting his view, and so he kicked free of the weeds clinging to his legs and hoisted himself out of the pond. The pool stretched back to where the land raised steeply in a small cliff, there the pool was fed by a stream waterfalling over the edge of the cliff. He hoped the noise of the waterfall may have been enough to cover his fall. Dripping wet and shivering despite the midday sun about the trees, he crouched down behind the tree, sneaking a look over the top at the three tributes.

There were now only two.

His magic rising in a sudden wave, Merlin worked out it was Aredian who had risen. He sent out questing tendrils of magic, trying to sense the man's presence. Merlin realised however, he could only sense magic, and the general buzz of it in the air made, from a distance, pinpointing Aredian's magic difficult. The residue of the man's magic in the clearing seemed to cover his tracks and Merlin was none the wiser to where he had gone. Forcing his magic to seek out another's trace was giving Merlin a headache and so he pulled back his magic, slowly getting to his feet and slipping his way along the edge of the pool toward the cliff.

He could make out enough handholds and ledges on the cliff that he reasoned he should be able to climb it. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up and his magic bristled.

_ Danger _ . 

He had the briefest of warnings of a foot landing in the muddy bank behind him before he was swung round and forced back against a tree. He slipped in the mud and would have fallen but for the iron grip holding him up.

After a moment, Aredian seemed to realise who he was attacking and released his hold slightly, smirking.

“Just Cenred's toy.”

Merlin frowned at Aredian's chosen name. The humiliation he had been subjected to on the ship still stung and whilst none of the other tributes, bar Arthur, knew exactly what had happened, that didn't mean they couldn't create their own version of events.

He subconsciously brushed down his front, straightening his jacket. Aredian was watching him with curiosity.

“I wonder what Cenred saw in you,” he murmured, stepping closer once more. “What is it about you? What have you got hidden?”

Merlin backed up against the tree, conscious of the fact he was trapped.

“What secret are you keeping, boy?”

Aredian's breath was harsh and foul in his face, but Merlin was determined not to be cowed. He remembered the glorious feeling of his magic surging, how he'd taken down Nimueh's enchantment. He wasn't weak, and he wouldn't let Aredian treat him with contempt.

Without even using a drop of magic, he threw out his hands and simply pushed Aredian backwards. Aredian slipped in the mud, a comical expression of surprise on his face as he flailed and then tumbled backwards into the water.

Merlin ran.

He scaled the cliff far faster than he ever usually would, fear fuelling him. He scrambled over the edge just as he felt a lash of Aredian's magic reach out to grab him. He flicked it away with a wave of his own, not waiting to see if Aredian had noticed his blatant use of magic and sped on, crashing and weaving through the undergrowth. He barely noticed where he was going, aware that Aredian was falling behind, but still unwilling to stop.

A moment later, his left foot was jerked out from underneath him and he was dragged up into the air, upside down with vines wrapped around his leg. He yelped with fright and tried to twist free as the blood began to rush to his head. The vines only seemed to wrap themselves tighter however. After a while of confused flailing, Merlin focused enough to draw on his magic.

What he found however, was that when he tried to draw it up, it immediately shrank back, avoiding his grasp. He whimpered, trying to grab hold of it only for it to slink away again. Tilting his head up, he frowned as he saw the vines glowing a strange luminescent green.

Panic began to set in, not helped by the pounding in his head from the blood rush.

Deciding against calling for help, he proceeded to grab hold of the vines, pulling himself upwards into a near horizontal position. It eased the pounding in his head, but he couldn't hold the position for long. Lowering himself back down again, he sighed, hoping that someone would find him, fast.

* * *

 

A few hours later, Arthur returned to where he'd laid the trap. He paused as he got close, hearing the sound of struggling. Pushing back a branch of a bush, he stopped in surprise to see Merlin hanging upside down, red in the face and struggling against the vines.

A splutter of laughter escaped him. “ _ Mer _ lin?!”

Merlin noticed him for the first time and swiped at him in embarrassment. “Don't just stand there, prat, help me down.”

Still laughing, Arthur untied the relevant vines to let Merlin down. He hit the ground rather heavily, but was up in an instant, wobbling as he tried to get used to the world the right way up again.

“It was meant to catch rabbits!” Arthur protested as Merlin glared at him. “How long were you up there.”

“A while,” Merlin admitted grumpily.

Arthur snorted again which earned him a thump on the arm.

“Don't you dare laugh.”

Arthur did his best to put on a straight face, failing dramatically as Merlin tumbled over the vines still tangled round his feet.

“Here let me,” he offered, bending down to untangle the vines. They were in a mess, twisted and knotted around Merlin's feet. Arthur pulled at them for a moment and thought he was about to get one knot loose when it inexplicably retied itself. He paused for a long moment, staring at the vines.

“They're magical,” he stated, getting back to his feet.

“I'd noticed,” Merlin replied dryly.

“Can you get loose?”

Merlin tugged at the vines himself before reaching out to see if he could loose them from the tree they grew from. They didn't give.

Arthur stared again at the vines, nonplussed as to what to do. He didn't like it; it was another chilling reminder that he couldn't beat magic.

Merlin sat down.

“What are you doing?”

“Well I can't go anywhere,” Merlin shrugged. “Might as well get comfortable and try and think of what to do.”

After a beat, Arthur also sat down.

“You don't have to stay.”

“Yes, I do, you might need protecting.”

Merlin snorted before meeting Arthur's gaze and assuming a more somber expression.

“I'll have you know I'm the best knight in the land,” Arthur said tightly.

“I'm sure you are,  _ sire _ ,” Merlin responded, his tone playful. “Ready to take on any foe with your … stick.”

Determined to retain the higher ground, Arthur didn't respond, taking hold of his stick possessively.

Merlin laughed again.

“I'm trying to help!” Arthur protested.

“And you'll do a great job, I'm sure,” Merlin replied, hands raised in surrender, but laughter still in his eyes.

Closing his eyes, trying to tame his frustration, Arthur couldn't help a small smile pass his lips. Merlin was just so … Merlin.

Opening his eyes, he found Merlin looking at him, an odd expression on his face. As their eyes met, Merlin coughed and looked away, awkwardly running a hand through his hair.

“So …”

“What happened to you then, before today?”

Arthur was grateful for Merlin’s question, diverting his mind from other routes it could have gone down. As he recounted a brief version of what had happened to him, including Aredian and Morgana, he couldn't help but idly examine Merlin's cheekbones, or let his gaze travel over his collarbones and his lean frame, showing under his jacket.

Merlin either didn't notice or didn't mind as he responded with a short tale. He'd pretty much been wandering around until he'd bumped into Aredian.

“I don't like him,” Merlin said quietly.

“He's a sorcerer, what do you expect?”

Merlin tensed up at Arthur's words, but didn't respond.

“Not all sorcerers are bad,” he said eventually.

Arthur remembered Morgana and his thoughts from the previous day. He found it hard, however, accepting what Merlin was saying. He'd been told all his life that magic was evil, only ever – with the exception of Morgana – experienced magic when it was attacking him.

“I sometimes find it hard to believe,” he responded.

An awkward silence settled between them, Merlin avoiding Arthur's gaze completely and twisting against the vines, still binding his feet.

“Do you support sorcerers?” Arthur didn't mean for his tone to be so sharp, but Merlin practically flinched.

“I …” he trailed off, fiddling with the vines, clearly thinking about something else. “I don't support some actions that some sorcerers make. But I'm not about to start attacking innocent people who had never used their magic for a bad deed in their life.”

“If there are any people like that.”

“What would you know about it?” Merlin asked, anger flashing in his eyes. Arthur bit back his retort, chilled by the dark glare Merlin was giving him. The sun was still shining, but Arthur felt cold and without really thinking about it, he shifted, turning away from Merlin.

He caught a glimpse of the hurt in Merlin's eyes, but stayed quiet. It wasn't simple, changing his mind about something that had been drilled into him his whole life. Merlin didn't even have the right to tell him he should and why was Merlin so interested anyway?

He closed his eyes again, trying to ease his whirling thoughts. Merlin had no place to reason with Arthur over magic, but he'd already told himself that his title didn't matter here on Ascetir. And he couldn't help but listen to Merlin. There was just something about him.

It was some time later as the sun was beginning to drop towards the horizon that Merlin spoke up again, clearing his throat quietly.

“So have you come up with any ideas yet?”

Arthur opened his eyes, frowning and realising he had almost been asleep.

Merlin was gesturing toward the vines and Arthur shook his head, guiltily registering that he hadn't even thought of Merlin's predicament.

Merlin sighed and tilted his head back against the tree he was leaning against.

“About what I said earlier-”

“Don't, Merlin, it doesn't matter.”

“I shouldn't have spoken to you like that.”

“I said it doesn't matter.”

“Just accept my apology!” Arthur could hear the frustration in Merlin's voice.

“Look, Merlin, you don't have to apologise. I'm not a prince here, you don't have to treat me any differently.”

“I wasn't trying to, I'd apologise to anyone if I'd thought I'd done them wrong.”

Arthur blinked. “I don't know whether to thank you or be insulted that you don't respect my title.”

“I've not had much experience with princes, but I guess you've done a decent job.” Arthur could see the smile blossoming on Merlin's face.

_ Stop looking at his lips _ . 

“Thank you?”

“Doesn't stop you being a prat, though.” The smile was properly there now, tugging his lips apart to reveal his teeth, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You've said that already.”

“You might have forgotten.” He had such gorgeous lips.

“I hadn't as a matter of fact. That and the fact you called me a  _ dollop-head _ ?” The words sounded funny to Arthur's ears, but the chuckle it brought out of Merlin was like music. 

“It's well known in Ealdor that all princes are.”

“Cheers.”

“You're welcome.”

He hadn't known he'd needed this. This easy conversation, this sweet friendship. Merlin was like a breath of fresh air after years of cold faced lords and nobles. Strange, that he should find life, when they were all so near to death.

“Insubordination is punished most severely in Camelot,” Arthur said, trying for his usual steely tone.

“We're not in Camelot,” Merlin pointed out.

“Fair point, but you're not exactly going anywhere are you?” Arthur was crawling across towards where Merlin was sat, feet still tangled in the vines. He wasn't quite sure what he was doing, but, looking into Merlin's gorgeous eyes, he wasn't quite sure Merlin was either. They were lost, lost in feelings and passion, lifetime running out here in Ascetir as they both knew. But just because they were going to die didn't mean they couldn't live a little now.

He was nearly there, Merlin reaching out to bring him closer when a voice spoke out nearby.

They jumped apart as if stung, Arthur shuffling backwards across the clearing, unable to look at Merlin, feeling guilty for some reason.

He swallowed hard, reality crashing back down on him and the cold returned to the clearing.

“I-”

“Merlin!” A man's voice broke through what Merlin had been about to say and he jumped. He looked around to see who it was and then broke into a smile, getting to his feet. The vines tripped him up as he tried to walk over, and the man who had entered the scene quickly stuck out his arms to catch him.

“Sorry, sorry.” Merlin was flailing and Arthur used the moment to get to his feet, forcing the burning emotions of the last few seconds, back down inside him.

“Merlin, I wondered where you'd gone!” Arthur remembered the man from the ship. He was tanned and dark haired, good looking

“Oh, just ... around,” Merlin responded vaguely.

“Are you alright?”

Merlin's answer was cut off as others filed into the clearing after the first man. Arthur recognised a few and was glad to see Morgana who appeared last.

“Thought I'd be seeing you,” she said, a smirk playing round her mouth.

The others in Morgana's group seemed to notice Arthur for the first time and there was an awkward pause and shuffling.

“Lancelot, this is Arthur. I mean, I'm sure you knew that, but, here he is in person!” Merlin broke the silence, bumbling and tripping over the vines as he pulled the first man over to Arthur. Arthur couldn't help but be thankful.

“And Arthur, this is Lancelot. That's Gwaine, Percival. Sorry, was it Elyan? And Gwen, his sister. Leon, and Morgana, you appear to have met.”

Arthur nodded at each in turn as they were introduced.

“Do we still refer to you as sire? Or dispense with titles as Merlin appears to have done?” Lancelot asked,

“Just Arthur is fine, honestly,” Arthur replied, conscious of how everyone was watching him. He wasn't usually shy in public, but this was different. Even in their short time together, the others seemed to have formed a bond, one which Arthur felt greatly on the outside of.

“Good because I doubt Gwaine would remember anyway,” Morgana snorted.

“Hey-” The man named Gwaine opened in mouth in protest, but beside him, Percival elbowed him gently.

“It was a joke Gwaine,” he mumbled.

“I'm wounded.”

“So what's the plan?” Merlin asked, addressing the group as a whole.

“We'd only just all met up,” Leon replied. “We were looking for somewhere to spend the night, gather some food. Set up a camp of some sort.”

“What about the other tributes?” Arthur put in.

“The last time you met Aredian, Valiant and Borden, they tried to kill you Arthur, and you're planning hand-holding and survival till next year?” Morgana's words were mocking and Arthur blushed.

“I just meant … we should stick together.”

“Yeah, I'm not sure how they'd take that,” Elyan said.

“You can't save everyone,” Merlin said faintly beside him. Arthur didn't think anyone else heard.

“There's not really much we can do, Valiant attacked Gwaine earlier, and if you've been attacked too Arthur …” Leon trailed off before shrugging. “They've made their position clear.”

Arthur nodded, but withdrew from the conversation about which direction they should head in.  _ Save us all _ . That was what Morgana had said. But he couldn't. Some people couldn't be saved. 

As the decision was made to head toward the mountain, Arthur nodded his assent. Merlin agreed, but then coughed awkwardly.

“I can't … walk.”

“Oh, I can help.” Morgana stepped over, drawing her knife from her belt. With a quick slice, she cut through the bonds, which dropped to the ground.

“The vines had magic,” Merlin mumbled, staring at Morgana's knife as she slipped it away.

“So do I,” Morgana responded, something passing silently between her and Merlin, which Arthur didn't understand.

“I never did ask,” Leon put in, breaking their stare. “How did you get the knife here? We're not allowed weapons.”

Morgana snorted. “Men,” she supplied simply.

Arthur gave a chuckle and Morgana rewarded him with a knowing smile.

“Right then, lets move on,” she said, taking the lead as the group left the clearing. The others filed out behind her, fairly quiet as they made their way through the forest. Merlin dropped to the back beside Arthur, still unsteady on his feet, but Arthur guessed Merlin was also naturally clumsy.

“About earlier,” Arthur began after walking in an uncomfortable silence for too long. “If you don't want to talk about it. That's fine. I just want you to know …” He fell silent, his feelings too difficult to comprehend.

“It doesn't matter. Nothing matters. If you're a prince, if I'm a peasant, class, society, what people expect, what people will think … We're all going to die here, Arthur. How can any of it matter at all?”

“Surely living now is important,” Arthur pointed out, something inside him reaching out, desperately realising how close he was to losing Merlin, losing whatever they'd had. Whatever it had been, it had been  _ something _ . Something he couldn't lose.

“It'll just hurt more when it ends.” Merlin shrugged, the sorrow clear in his eyes. He sped ahead before Arthur could respond, joining Lancelot. Arthur stopped for a moment, a wave of emotions rendering him motionless. It hit him then, like a smack in the face, something he'd been staring at all that day. Because somehow, he'd fallen in love. Simply, but inexplicably, fallen. Hard.

Here at the end of his life, at possibly the worst place in the world to do it, he'd fallen in love.

* * *

 

Merlin jumped as Morgana dropped down next to him. He was sat a little way from the fire, staring into it, lost in thought. They'd made their camp and some of the others had found food, a fire had been set and the smell of roasting meat wafted over to him, but he hadn't moved.

“You should eat,” she said firmly, handing across a chunk of bark, which served as a plate, with meat and a few wild berries on top. Merlin looked at it for a moment.

“Rabbit,” he said quietly, thinking of Will.

“It's good, Elyan's a surprisingly good cook and Gwen stopped Gwaine from eating all the berries so all in all it's not a bad job.” Morgana tapped the bark impatiently. “Eat.”

Slowly, Merlin ate, savouring each strip of the rabbit, each bite reminding him of home. He crushed the berries between his teeth, the rich sweetness blossoming in his mouth. When he was done, he tossed the bark toward the fire and resumed his earlier position. Sitting, watching, thinking.

“You knew the knife was magical,” Morgana said softly. “How?”

“The vines were magical, they kept retying.” Merlin replied, his voice a monotone. “Seems only logical that only a magical knife could cut through them.”

He wasn't sure why he kept his magic to himself. Here was Morgana, a magic user, who would understand … but he kept his secret. He didn't want everyone knowing. Most of all he didn't want Arthur knowing, and why, he couldn't quite say.

“You're hiding something,” Morgana stated, her eyes boring into Merlin with intensity.

“Aren't we all?” Merlin asked, raising his eyebrow and meeting Morgana's gaze.

“You and Arthur-”

“Don't.”

“But if there's something going on-”

“There isn't.”

Morgana sighed. “A blind man could see it, Merlin. You're only hurting yourself by denying your feelings.”

“Morgana, as much as your concern is appreciated, I don't know you. And I'm certainly not about to open up to you.” Merlin was irritable. Tired and confused. He still felt shaken from earlier, his magic taking time to settle back comfortably under his skin.

“Fine. I'll leave you to your thoughts,” Morgana snapped, getting up.

“I can't let him get hurt,” Merlin said in a rush, unsure where the words were coming from. “I have no idea what's going on in my head, whether I love him or not or whether any of it even matters … but I can't let him get hurt.”

“We'll all hurt in the end, Merlin. We've only got however many days left here, but this time now, it's not about surviving, it's about  _ living _ .”

A branch cracked behind them and Merlin jerked round to see who it was. Arthur was stood a little way behind them, looking somewhat guilty at being caught out. Merlin swallowed, the light from the fire catching Arthur's figure, highlighting every rise and fall of muscle, every line of his perfectly sculpted figure.

“We need to talk,” Arthur said, somewhat shakily.

Realising he had no other option, Merlin got up. He followed Arthur away from the fire, into the shadow of the trees. Away from the others, till it was just them, stood a little too close in a space between trees, Arthur's emotions hidden from Merlin in the half-light.

“I heard what you said,” Arthur stated.

“Which bit?” Merlin sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“About not letting me get hurt.”

“It's the truth. It's the only thing I know for sure.”

“And this came on when? When did you decide you suddenly needed to play the hero? You walked away from me on the beach, what's changed your mind?” Arthur's words were rushed, his tone a mixture of hurt and frustration.

Merlin ground his foot into the earth, a strangled sob breaking from his throat.

“I don't  _ know _ ,” he said helplessly. 

He felt so lost, not understanding his emotions and all the while thinking about the kiss that might have been, the rush of excitement and pure joy as Arthur had leant in. Breaching the gap between what was known and the risk of the unknown. Free-falling into goodness knows what because Merlin had never felt this way, not like this, not for another person. It wasn't love. It was something so much more.

He could see Arthur hesitating, not wanting to push, so Merlin moved first, reaching out to cup the back of Arthur's head with his hand and pull him in.

If sparks flew from Merlin's fingertips when their lips met, well, Arthur had his eyes closed, so what did it matter?

The kiss was tender to begin with, sending shivers up Merlin's spine, but desperation set in and he spread his lips, tongue reaching out to slide into Arthur's mouth.

It seemed all the invitation Arthur needed as he stepped forward, pushing Merlin back against the tree behind him. Arthur's hands were on his hips, fingers pressing hard against skin and Merlin responded by running his other hand up Arthur's side, his fingers dancing over ribs and then pressing into the firm muscles along Arthur's shoulder.

It seemed like everything he ever wanted, and yet he wanted,  _ needed _ so much more. 

He pulled away for a moment, head moving to press kisses along Arthur's collarbone.

“ _ Mer _ lin.” Arthur's voice was hoarse, his fingers carding through Merlin's hair. 

“Arthur.”

Their touches were gentle, intimate and soft, yet burning with heat and passion. Arthur steadily guided Merlin's mouth back to his own, kisses becoming harsher, faster, more frenzied as if neither of them wanted to let go. As if letting go might mean falling too far.

And then a sudden blinding flash of realisation sent Merlin jerking back.

He was a sorcerer. This was  _ Arthur Pendragon _ . 

Arthur stilled in Merlin's arms, confusion lining his features.

“What is it?”

“I …” Merlin bit his lip hard, doubt settling deep in his stomach. Tears rose up in his eyes unbidden and Arthur stepped back a little.

“Merlin, what's wrong?”

The pain in Arthur's eyes was unbearable, but Merlin couldn't help but think, would that pain turn to anger if Arthur knew who he really was?

Could he fall in love with someone he was lying to?

He stumbled away, tears blurring his vision so he tripped over a tree root and almost landed flat on his face. Arthur steadied him, and Merlin almost lost it when he saw tears in the Prince's eyes.

“I'm sorry,” he gasped. “I can't.”

He stumbled away, away from the fire and the tributes, away from Arthur. He couldn’t let himself get close to Arthur, couldn't let those feelings out because he had to keep his secret, no matter what. He didn't want to change things between him and Arthur by admitting he had magic, but at the same time, he was changing things between them by turning away.

He couldn't fall in love. Couldn't do that to himself, couldn't do it to Arthur.

However, he realised as he crumpled to the ground at the roots of an oak tree, tears staining his face, he had already fallen. Too far to turn back.

* * *

 

Arthur stood, a little dumbstruck in the gap between the trees where Merlin had left him. He didn't quite understand what had happened. Had he pushed too much? Had he missed something? What had gone wrong?

Eventually, when it was too dark to see, he wandered back toward the firelight and the camp. In part, he was glad not to see Merlin there, but he also worried. What if he'd stumbled into Aredian's hands?

“Arthur? What's wrong?” Morgana had noticed him, her eyes narrowed.

“Nothing,” Arthur replied shortly. Morgana's eyes narrowed further, but she didn't press.

“Has anyone seen Merlin?” Lancelot arrived on the scene, a pinch of worry in his brow. At his words Morgana frowned at Arthur.

“He went with Arthur,” she said pointedly.

Lancelot appeared to miss the underlying meaning in Morgana's words, but by then some of the others appeared at Lancelot's side.

“What's up?” Gwaine asked.

“Merlin's missing,” Morgana replied, regarding Arthur with a raised eyebrow.

“And Arthur was the last one to see him,” Lancelot added.

“Where'd he go?” Gwaine asked.

“We were just talking,” Arthur responded, ignoring Morgana. “Then he said he needed some air and walked off.”

“And you let him?” Lancelot looked angry.

Arthur sensed the suspicion. But he couldn't tell them the truth without telling them what had really been happening between him and Merlin. And that was …  _ private _ .

“That doesn't quite add up to me,” Gwaine said, the accusation plain in his tone.

“What's going on?” More people joined the circle round the fire, Percival's bulk casting everyone in shadow whilst Leon stepped toward Arthur.

“Sire?”

“I asked you not to call me that,” Arthur said through gritted teeth.

“Funny that,” Gwaine responded. “You were happy to lord it above us all on the ship. What's changed?”

“I didn't know you were being treated like that,” Arthur protested. “My uncle's actions were unforgivable.”

“Well he's not here,” Gwaine said, “so looks like you're going to have to be accountable.”

Gwaine took a step forward, his stance menacing. Arthur expected someone to say something, someone to act. Then he guiltily realised that just because his father's men would protect him back in Camelot, there was no one here who would do the same.

He looked, almost desperately to Morgana. She knew the truth, and surely she could see that Gwaine was out of order?

Lancelot and Leon both had looks of deep doubt and confusion on their faces. Percival had a stony frown in place of the gentle smile Arthur had seen earlier. Morgana however, had backed away from the fire, shaking her head to herself, eyes closed, as if in pain.

Something was wrong.

“Look,” Arthur said, putting his hands in the air, trying to be reasonable. “I can only offer my apologies for how you suffered-”

“ _ Suffered _ ?” Leon's voice was a low growl in his ear and Arthur jumped, beginning to back away. “We were treated like dirt.”

“But I guess it's ok for you,” Gwaine cut in. “You've never had a rough day in your life I bet.”

“It was the Pendragons who started this war. It's your fault we're here.” Percival's cold words, laced with hatred, chilled Arthur.

Something was very wrong.

“I swear, I can only try and make amends-” He was rushing now, afraid of what the three advancing men could do. As far as he knew, none of them had magic, but they didn't seem to be in their right minds.

_ Magic _ .

He could have slapped himself for taking so long to realise. He stumbled back a few steps, keeping his hands raised in an attempt to placate the other tributes. He knew, however, that if magic was involved, none of them would back down.

“Listen to me, you've been enchanted-”

He was grabbed roughly from behind, Percival's strong grip dragging his arms behind his back. Arthur fought back, he'd been trained for this kind of thing, but Percival was strong and didn't let down.

“Merlin! MERLIN!” Arthur yelled the only name he could. Merlin hadn't been affected on the beach, maybe he wouldn't be now. Arthur was terrified, the memory of Aredian's rope snaking around his throat. This was magic. He couldn't win.

Percival shifted his grip, imprisoning Arthur with just one arm and clamping his other hand over Arthur's mouth.

Arthur continued to fight as Gwaine approached, his hand raised in a fist. He bit down on Percival's hand, making him snatch it away with a cry of pain. Gwaine leapt forward.

Then, everyone froze.

It was the strangest sensation, Arthur could still move, but the others around him seemed to have … stopped.

The fire had frozen in place, flames reaching up, but not moving. Gwaine was like a statue, fist raised, hate etched on his face. Percival behind him was even more rock like than before. Lancelot was stood by, doubt written across his features. Leon was stepping toward Arthur, his hand, like Gwaine's, balled into a fist. Turning his head, Arthur saw Morgana, backed up against a tree, head bowed and a look of pain on her face.

Arthur realised then, that someone had stopped time.

Movement caught his eye and he turned as best he could, still imprisoned in Percival's grip.

A woman stepped from the trees, dark hair framing her pale face. Her lips were blood red, her eyes icy blue. The dress she wore trailed after her on the ground and as she stepped closer, Arthur had to resist shuddering. The power she exuded was unmissable.

She stopped next to Gwaine, smiling as she did so.

“Arthur Pendragon,” she stated.

“Who – who are you?” Arthur responded, determined to appear strong.

“Funny, I would have thought your father would have made sure you knew my face. No matter, you'll know my name.” She raised and eyebrow expectantly. The answer came to Arthur in a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Nimueh.”

She nodded her head, moving toward him again and stopping just in front of him.

“Did you like my little game?” she asked, a child-like giggle escaping her. She reached out and stroked a hand down Gwaine's face.

“He's usually such a nice man. It's strange how easily one can play with the mind.”

“You did this?” Arthur asked angrily.

Nimueh snorted. “Who else?”

She turned and looked toward Morgana.

“This one was more difficult. Her magic resisted mine, it did on the beach too, but I'm so much stronger than her. The power of the old religion lives in my veins and now matter how much she fought she couldn't hold me off. She definitely didn't have the power to resist the time stop.”

“Her name is Morgana,” Arthur growled.

Nimueh frowned. “I don't see why you'd care, Arthur Pendragon. She has magic.”

“She's … a good person.” It denied practically everything Arthur had ever been told in his life, but in that moment, it felt right.

Nimueh's laugh was chilling. “So honourable,  _ sire _ , so  _ good _ .” 

Arthur stayed silent, hoping not to provoke Nimueh.

“Are you scared, Arthur?” she asked, voice softer now as she returned to stand in front of him. “Are you scared of magic? Of how easily I could command one of these men to kill you and they would without a thought.”

“I don't fear death,” Arthur said firmly.

Nimueh looked at him quizzically.

“So what do you fear, Arthur Pendragon? What do you fear?”

She reached out a hand, slender fingers coming to rest at his temple.

Arthur gasped as her eyes flared gold and suddenly, he couldn't see Nimueh anymore.

**OOO**

He was falling through darkness before landing, inexplicably in his room back in Camelot.

In front of him, a young child stood and Arthur realised it was a younger version of himself. He was inside his memories. Across the room stood Arthur's father. He stood straighter, his hair was darker and he was missing the scar across his face that he'd acquired in battle some years later. Nimueh stood beside Arthur and watched the scene with him. Arthur felt cold. He remembered this day.

“ _ I swear, father, I tried my hardest _ ,” young Arthur said. He looked close to tears. 

“ _ Yet you still lost the fight. You embarrassed me. _ ” 

There had been a mock fight between Arthur and the son of a local lord. Arthur had tried his best, but the lord's son had been two years his senior, stronger, quicker, more ruthless.

“ _ I said I tried my best! _ ” Arthur wished he could have covered his younger self's mouth in that moment, prevent what came next. 

Uther was quick, the backhand stinging across the young boy's face and making old Arthur flinch. He still remembered that strike.

“ _ You failed me _ ,” Uther said, his voice deadly. Little Arthur clutched his face, tears spilling down his cheeks. “ _ I trust you will not do so again _ .”

The scene dissolved and Arthur was falling through darkness again before being brought up sharply in a quiet hallway. They'd travelled a few years, Arthur could tell, the younger version of himself taller and broader in the shoulder.

“No …” he whispered quietly. He didn't want to see this, couldn't let Nimueh see this. He couldn't let her know how much Gwaine and the others had scared him before.

A man stepped out of a passage to Arthur's right, his smile tight.

“ _ Arthur _ .”

“ _ What do you want, Kay _ ?” Arthur could hear his younger self trying to be brave, but he could also hear the fear. 

“ _ We were wondering when you were going to play your part in our little deal _ ?” Kay's voice was cool, could almost be considered friendly. 

“ _ I … I can't. _ ” Young Arthur faltered. “ _ I can't lie to my father _ .”

“ _ Arthur _ .”

“ _ Leave me alone, Kay. _ ”

Young Arthur backed away just as another knight stepped into the hallway behind him. The knight grabbed Arthur, holding him still and clamping a gloved hand over Arthur's mouth as he tried to yell.

Arthur shivered. It was similar, too similar, to Gwaine and Percival. He bit back a gasp and clenched his teeth as Kay landed a blow across his younger self's face. It was as if he could still feel the sting.

“ _ No point shouting, Arthur. Daddy's not gonna come and save you. No one is. You're alone. Don't you see? You'll always be alone; no one will ever care for you. So you  _ can _ get us the promotion and you will. Because if you don't have us, who have you got _ ?” Kay punctuated his sentences with sharp slaps and blows. Arthur was shaking, frozen to the spot as he relived one of the worst moments of his life. His father had told him not to listen to Kay afterwards, but one phrase always stuck with him. 

_You'll always be alone; no one will ever care for you._

The scene dissolved just as his father appeared at the end of the corridor.

The images flashed faster by then, one scene appearing before flitting away as another took its place. Getting lost in the woods for hours on his own. Looking into his father's eyes, hoping for approval and seeing no praise. Watching the choosing ceremony as year after year another tribute was taken to Ascetir. His own name on the stone, shining through the hall. Aredian's rope tightening around his neck. Merlin pushing him away in the woods …

**OOO**

He came back to the present in a great shuddering gasp, once again imprisoned in Percival's grip, time still frozen around him. Nimueh lowered her hand from his face, her eyes glittering with the knowledge she now held.

“You can't bear to be alone can you?”

Arthur swallowed, but refused to say anything.

“The great Arthur Pendragon. What if people knew, how much you depended on other people to love you?”

“It's not like that,” Arthur responded, his voice choked.

“Oh, but it is.” Nimueh laughed in his face. In that moment, Arthur knew he had never hated anyone more.

“And don't you worry. I'll remember that, when the time comes. When the time comes to take my revenge, against your father for every crime he committed solely to ease his guilt, when that time comes, I'll make sure you're alone. Because look around, Arthur, what friends have you here? Who would come and save  _ you _ ?”

She vanished then, and time crashed back into life. Gwaine lunged forward, but managed to catch himself before his fist hit Arthur's face. Percival slowly relaxed, releasing Arthur and covering his face with a hand. Lancelot bent over, blowing out sharply between his teeth.

“What the hell was that?” Leon asked quietly.

“Nimueh.” Morgana's voice was weak as she stepped toward the fire. “She enchanted you, I managed to resist her …”

“Did you stop her?” Gwaine asked.

“You think I have that kind of power?” Morgana snapped. “She must have released the spell. Who knows why.”

Arthur shakily raised a hand to wipe away the tears that were balanced on his eyelashes.

“Sorry,” Gwaine said shortly.

Arthur shook his head. “It doesn't matter. You didn't have a choice.”

Percival dropped a hand on Arthur's shoulder and Leon looked thoroughly uncomfortable.

“We would never do that willingly-” he began. A noise at the edge of the clearing made them all jump. Turning to see what it was Arthur relaxed.

Gwen and Elyan, stepped from between the trees, looks of confusion on their faces.

“What happened?” Gwen asked. “We were just looking for herbs and then …” She swallowed, looking at Arthur somewhat awkwardly.

“You came over with an uncontrollable desire to harm Arthur,” Lancelot finished for her.

“How did you know?” Elyan asked.

“We felt the same,” Percival responded.

Eyes turned to Arthur, some, he noticed, were unwilling to properly meet his gaze.

“It honestly doesn't matter,” he said firmly. “I don't blame you, you didn't have any control. This wasn't your fault.”

“We could have killed you,” Leon said quietly.

“I was ready to,” Gwaine admitted.

“Well, you didn't.”

Their conversation was once again interrupted as Merlin stumbled onto the scene.

“What's going on? I heard shouting.”

“Nimueh,” Morgana responded quickly, and Arthur saw something pass between the two of them again, Morgana clearly trying to say something with her eyes. “She enchanted us to hurt Arthur.”

Clearing his throat quickly, Merlin shuffled. “Yeah, I was wondering what that was about.”

There was a pause and then Leon broke in.

“We should move on, before Nimueh comes back.”

The others moved away, gathering the few tools and resources they had forged and deciding where to go.

Arthur, however, couldn't keep his eyes off Merlin. Because he knew Merlin had been lying. He hadn't been enchanted to hurt Arthur. Just like he hadn't been enchanted on the beach.

The question was on the tip of his tongue, wanting to know what it was about Merlin. But it died as Merlin met his gaze and Arthur could see his eyes were red-rimmed and everything from earlier came flooding back.

Merlin didn't want him.

Arthur turned away, telling himself he didn't care what was different about Merlin. It was probably just another one of Nimueh's games.

He joined Leon at the head of the group and accepted the torch he offered. Trying, and failing, to put Merlin to the back of his mind, he led the way back into the woods.

* * *

 

Merlin dropped to the back of the group, away from Arthur's confused and hurt stares. Arthur who was getting too close to finding out the truth.

When he'd heard Arthur's yell, he'd forced his feet under him and fled back to the camp. As he'd come within a few meters of the camp, however, the world had taken a strange tilt, as if everything had been thrown sideways. He'd steadied himself and blinked in surprise, the frozen world hanging in the balance.

It had been his experience of time being stopped. It had taken him some time getting used to the silence.

He'd watched Nimueh's entire conversation with Arthur, had watched as she'd delved into his mind. Had burned with anger, pain and frustration.

Nimueh must know. She must have seen what had happened in the woods. She must know about him and Arthur. The idea made him worry, not just for his sake. If Nimueh hurt Arthur … if she told him the truth …

“I hate to say that I'm scared, but …” Gwen had fallen into step beside him and Merlin shifted his thoughts away from Nimueh to focus on her.

“It all seems too big, too inescapable.” She was fidgeting with the hem of her tunic, her curls falling in waves around her face.

Merlin hesitated, unsure of what to say.

“And I just, don't know what to do sometimes.” She sighed.

They carried on walking, Merlin not feeling like he had to say anything, a silent understanding passing between them.

“But we have to have hope.”

Her words caught Merlin by surprise and he stared at her, partly in awe. A small smile was on her face.

“What?”

“Well, I just … don't think I could have the hope your have,” he admitted quietly.

“We all have to hold onto something, Merlin,” Gwen replied, her eyes sincere.

Merlin lightly shook his head. All the worries of the past days had somewhat dulled the hope that had arisen after bringing down Nimueh's enchantment. Too many troubles, too many questions and conflicting emotions.

“Or maybe some _ one _ ?” Gwen offered simply. She gave him a knowing look and Merlin tried to hide his blush. 

“It can't come to anything,” he replied.

“And it never will, if you push him away.”

“It's not that simple.” He'd always found, that when people knew about his magic, they changed. Changed how they looked at him, changed how they acted around him. He wondered how Gwen would act, facing the truth of who he really was.

“Love is always simple,” Gwen said, jolting Merlin from his thoughts. She put a comforting hand on his arm and brought him to a stop for a moment. “It's the other things which get in the way. You've just got to remember, if the love is real, those things don't matter.”

Merlin smiled sadly. He wanted to believe it, wanted Gwen's words to be true. But in his world, words like that, words so full of love and light, couldn't be true. He'd learned that the hard way.

The sound of rock falling and someone's scream ahead caught their attention and they raced to catch up with the others.

The group had stopped, crouched on the edge of a large hole in the earth.

“It just fell away,” Lancelot gasped, white-faced.

“Morgana! Morgana?” Arthur was right on the edge of the hole, peering down in.

“She fell,” Gwen supplied shortly.

Gwen gasped, covering her mouth with a hand as Merlin stepped forward, testing the ground at the edge of the hole carefully.

“Morgana?!”

“I'm ok,” came a rough reply from some way below them. “It's water at the bottom.”

“Can you see a way out?” Arthur was dangerously near the edge and Merlin put a hand out to steady him. Arthur glanced at him and the look made the hairs stand up on Merlin's neck.

“There might be …” Morgana's voice was muffled.

“Morgana?”

“Well look who we have here.” The voice came from behind them, making both Arthur and Merlin jump, balanced dangerously on the edge.

The others were backing away, getting into a position to fight as Aredian, Valiant and Borden stepped into the clearing. Aredian's eyes met Merlin's and Merlin returned the gaze defiantly. He knew that Aredian knew. He knew it could all be over soon.

“We were disappointed, Pendragon, not to finish our little conversation yesterday.” Aredian's dark eyes moved to Arthur, a smirk curling his lips.

Arthur was frozen in place, his hands curled into fists, trembling slightly.

“You'll leave him alone,” Leon stated firmly, somewhere off to Merlin's right.

“Ah, the brave prince has found himself a knight,” Valiant sneered.

“He wasn't so brave earlier,” Borden said, his voice mocking.

“And this one,” Aredian said, turning his gaze on Merlin, “Cenred's toy. He was really squirming earlier. What is it boy? Got your prince to protect you?” The three men were laughing even as Gwaine leapt forward. Gwaine's fist connected heavily with Valiant's jaw. Valiant launched right back at him, tackling Gwaine to the ground as the others leapt forward to fight. Elyan and Gwen went for Borden as Lancelot dived forward to help Gwaine. Percival leapt for Aredian, but was knocked sideways by a flash of Aredian's magic. Gwaine roared out in rage as Percival crumpled against a nearby tree, the force of his hit cracking the trunk.

Leon stepped up between Merlin and Arthur and Valiant, the torches he was carrying, swinging to ward Aredian off.

Arthur and Merlin returned their attention to the hole, trying to see some sign of Morgana, the flickering light of the torches not helping.

“Still there, Morgana?” Arthur yelled out again.

“Of course,” came the reply from deep down.

Merlin turned his gaze back to the fight just as Aredian raised his hand again, his eyes already glowing. The ground beneath him and Arthur began to crack.

“No!” Leon shouted, leaping forward, but Aredian simply knocked him aside.

Merlin sat frozen, knowing he  _ should _ do something to help. But he couldn't so close to Arthur. 

There was a resounding crack and Merlin found himself slipping forward toward the hole. Another crack of rock and earth and Arthur was sent pitching forward towards the blackness. Merlin reached out to grab him, his hand twining with Arthur's just as the rock he was balanced on gave way and the two of them fell down through the earth.

* * *

 

They hit the water sooner than Arthur expected, his arm wrapped around Merlin's torso as they fell, Merlin’s breath, hot in his face, his cry of alarm loud in his ears.

The impact with the water was hard and it felt like every part of Arthur was crying out in pain. He flailed for a moment, his mind not catching up with what was going on, until he focused and kicked upwards, breaking the surface with a gasp. Merlin popped up a moment later, spouting water from his mouth and shaking his head wildly.

“Nice entrance.” Morgana was sat on a rock at the edge of the pool they had fallen into. Her clothes were soaked and her hair plastered to her head. Beside her, floated a ball of blue flames that lit up the cavern they had fallen into.

“What's going on up there?” she asked conversationally as Arthur and Merlin struck out for the edge of the pool.

“Aredian,” Arthur spat, heaving himself up onto a rock and then offering his hand to Merlin and hauling him out of the water. They both simply lay there for a moment, taking deep shaking breaths.

“We need to get back up there,” Merlin said, as soon as he'd got his breath back. “We need to help the others.”

Morgana looked up. “I've been searching for a way up since I fell. As far as I can tell, there's no way we can get up there.”

Another ominous crack sounded above them and rocks began to rain down. They shrank back under the shelter of the cavern wall as boulder after boulder hit the water.

“The man's psychotic,” Arthur growled.

“We need to help the others,” Merlin said again, frustrated, looking for a way out of the cavern.

“Bit difficult right now,” Arthur shot back. The rocks were hitting the water soaking them where they sat and even as they waited, the ground above them shook and rumbled.

“He's going to bury us alive,” Morgana said quietly.

“Is there nothing you can do?” Arthur asked, in his desperation looking to Morgana because they needed a way out, he didn't care if it was a magical one.

“Oh, I get it, magic's terrible until you  _ need  _ it.” Morgana's words were cutting. “And anyway,” she took a breath. “No. I'm not … not that strong.”

The rocks continued to rain down and Arthur noticed Morgana's flame beginning to waver and flicker.

Suddenly, with a last great crash, the rock fall echoed into silence and the cavern fell quiet except for the dripping of water.

“Something must have happened up there,” Arthur said quietly, pushing himself away from the wall and peering upwards. It was pitch black above them, not even a hint of where they'd fallen through.

“Do you think the others are alright?” Merlin asked shakily.

“We've got to find a way out first,” Arthur said firmly, trying not to think about what Aredian could have done to their comrades.

Morgana's light, stronger now, floated out into the middle of the cavern. On closer inspection, it wasn't as big as Arthur had first thought and the numerous rocks that Aredian had sent down had heaped up, creating an island in the middle of the pool.

“If we can get across to the island,” Arthur said, thinking aloud, “we could try climbing up, seeing if there's a way out at the top.”

Morgana's light floated higher and Arthur followed its path, grimly noting how steep and smooth the walls of the cavern were. The rocks had piled up against the far wall, but they could all see the pile was far from stable at the top.

“We have to try.” Arthur glanced at Merlin and Morgana before sliding back into the water and swimming across to the island. A splash behind him showed that Merlin had followed suit and as Arthur pulled himself onto the rocks, a third splash and the flame temporarily flickering showed him Morgana had done the same.

The boulders were huge and Arthur marvelled that the whole ceiling hadn't just caved in.

He began awkwardly scrambling up, the boulder wet and slimy. The was no clear path and as he got higher, the climbing became harder, huge rocks towering out of the pile and cutting off his route.

He had just paused, balancing precariously on a wobbling rock, looking for a new route when he heard Morgana speak out from below.

“Arthur, Merlin, wait.”

He looked down and saw that she was some way below, sat down on a rock, a hand to her temple.

“She's … she's in my head …” Morgana said weakly.

Arthur didn't need any explanation to work out who she meant and he quickly started to descend the pile, Merlin below him doing the same.

“I … I can't …” Morgana had her eyes shut, her forehead pinched in a frown and Arthur noticed worryingly that her flame was growing smaller.

“Morgana, you have to fight her,” Arthur said urgently, the cavern becoming dim as the light faded. He was only a few rocks above Merlin now and they would reach Morgana soon. It would be impossible in the dark.

Morgana suddenly doubled over, a shriek of pain escaping her lips and then everything went dark.

Arthur stilled, the sudden, overwhelming darkness making him pause. He leant back into the stone, determined to keep a firm footing.

“Arthur?” Merlin's hesitant whisper made him jump and he nearly slipped.

“Yes,  _ Mer _ lin? Not afraid of the dark are we?” he asked through gritted teeth. 

“No.” Merlin coughed. “I was just checking you were all right.”

“Doing just fine,” Arthur responded, sure to make the sarcasm plain. He heard movement below him and instinctively looked down. The darkness frustrated him.

“Merlin, are you moving?” he asked.

“Just a little, I need to get to Morgana.”

“Merlin, if you fall-”

“Don't worry so much, Arthur, I'll be fine.”

Arthur clenched his jaw, determined not to give into Merlin's jibes. Instead he cautiously toed along the ledge he was on to see if there was a way down that wasn't falling.

* * *

 

Merlin lowered himself down one more ledge. His legs were shaking, but a hurried spell had meant he could see pretty much everything. Morgana was no more than a few rocks below him, slumped unconscious from Nimueh's attack. Arthur was above him and he reasoned Arthur could deal with himself for a few moments. He needed to get Morgana awake again.

Lowering himself over the edge of one more rock and his foot hit Morgana's shoulder. Smiling at his small victory, he tapped as lightly as he could on her shoulder. She didn't wake – not that he had expected her to – and he didn't dare shake her harder because he didn't know how firm the rocks were that she was sitting on. Covering his eyes with a hand so that Arthur wouldn't see the gold flare, he sent a warming, waking spell to Morgana, passing through his shoe and into her.

He heard her gasp awake and smiled once again.

“Morgana?” came Arthur's uncertain voice from above.

“What do you want,” Morgana grumbled in response, shifting until she seemed to realise her surroundings.

“Are you ok?” Merlin asked softly and from where he was sat, he could see her turn her eyes unseeingly in the darkness, toward him.

“She …” Morgana's voice quaked before she seemed to gather herself. “She was in my head. But she's gone now. It doesn't matter.”

There was a slither of stones from above and a muttered curse from Arthur.

“Any chance of a little light?” he asked almost pleadingly.

Merlin smirked as he saw Morgana roll her eyes. But her face fell shortly after.

“No,” she responded. “I can't. I'm too drained from fighting her off.”

Merlin could hear Arthur's sigh.

“Have a little respect, Pendragon,” Morgana snapped. “Magic isn't just something I can switch off and on at my own pleasure. It's part of me.”

There was a short pause, then, “Sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Morgana replied stiffly.

Silence fell again and Merlin racked his brains for what they could do.

“Before she got inside my head though, I noticed something. At first I thought it was just the rocks falling in, but it's not, the water level's rising.”

Merlin looked down, noticing that indeed, the water was higher than he remembered it being before.

“Great, so if it's not being crushed by rocks, it's falling to my death in the dark or drowning.”

Merlin didn't think Arthur meant for he and Morgana to hear his muttering, but the look on Morgana's face told him they both had.

“Try and be a little cheery,” Merlin joked, trying to lighten to mood.

“Your optimism astounds me, Merlin,” Arthur deadpanned.

Down on the rocks, Merlin could see Morgana desperately trying to summon her magic and bring back the light. It hurt him to see her so troubled, and in that moment he knew he had to help. Secret or no secret. And anyway, if he didn't help, they would likely all end up dead anyway.

He lowered himself towards her once again, resting his foot on her shoulder. She jumped and looked up. He could see the anger in her eyes that she didn't know what was going on.

“It's ok, just breathe,” he told her quietly.

Whilst he did this, he pulled up his magic, bringing it bubbling to the surface. He saw the moment when it reached his eyes because she jumped in response, her mouth going wide in surprise.

Letting a single strand unwind, Merlin released a small amount of his own magic and sent it through the connection between them. Her eyes flickered shut as the magic passed into her and when they opened again, they were burning bright with gold fire.

All at once, the cavern blazed with light.

Merlin hastily scrambled back, cutting off the supply of magic to her, but he knew he had fed her enough to sustain her until her own returned properly.

Morgana was silent, looking at him with a small frown on her face. Her eyes conveying both fear, but also a spark of hope as well.

As he moved away, Merlin shook his head minutely. She realised what he was saying. Arthur doesn't know. Arthur  _ can't _ know. At that, her frown deepened, but Merlin just looked away. 

Arthur had come scrambling down the pile, a smile on his face as he cheerily clapped Merlin on the shoulder then dropped down to Morgana.

“I was thinking, the water has to be coming in somewhere, and at the rate it's going up the gap has to be fairly large. So there might be a way for us to get out.”

Morgana seemed to shake herself, focusing on Arthur.

“If you could give me the light, I'll swim down and see if there's a tunnel or anything that can lead us out.”

Morgana murmured a short spell and the light floated across and settled on Arthur's shoulder. He looked at it for a moment, a mixture of awe and apprehension on his face.

“It won't bite,” Morgana said drily.

“Sure,” Arthur said, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

He turned and dropped down towards the water, lowering himself in before taking a breath and plunging below the surface.

The cavern fell dark again before Merlin conjured a light. His golden flame sat in his hand, casting enough light to illuminate both his and Morgana's faces.

“You have magic,” Morgana said shortly.

Merlin nodded silently.

“You haven't told him,” Morgana continued, gesturing to the water where Arthur had gone under.

“How can I? He's Arthur Pendragon!”

“You should have more faith in him, he's accepting magic, can't you see?” Morgana looked almost angry.

“But it's not just that is it? Everything we know about each other, everything that's happened, it's all built on lies.”

Morgana sighed. “I knew you had a secret,” she said.

“I was born with it,” Merlin replied, sliding down to sit on a rock next to Morgana. “All I've ever known is that I have to hide my magic.”

“I was nine,” Morgana responded. “I set the curtains on fire. And … I had dreams, all the time. Things that would come true.”

“You're a seer?”

“Not a very good one,” Morgana replied, a small laugh escaping her lips. “It's usually only flashes. And, to begin with, I had trouble understanding that I couldn't do anything about what I was seeing. I tried to stop things from happening and so often just made them worse.”

“What did you do?” Merlin asked softly.

“My father sent me to the druids, in secret of course. He's one of Uther's most loyal, couldn't let the king know his own daughter was a sorcerer.” She said the last word almost with contempt and Merlin felt a pang of homesickness for his mother. She had never let him hate who he was, she had always told him his magic was good, that  _ he _ was good. 

“They … helped me. Helped me control my magic. But when I came back home it was like my father didn't know me. He barely even acknowledged me.” She shook her head firmly. “But that doesn't matter now. I've seen what you and Arthur have. You have to tell him.”

At that moment, Arthur broke the surface, splashing them as he swam to the island.

“We can get out,” he said, panting as he hauled himself up onto the rocks. “I've swum right through. There's a beach.”

Merlin had put his light out the moment Arthur appeared and without looking at Morgana he dropped down to the edge of the water.

“We should get going, we need to get back to the others.” He slid into the water and clung to the rocks for a moment.

“Can you go first? Morgana can go after you and hopefully the light will reach back far enough.”

“Morgana and I could go through first and then one of us come back for you,” Arthur offered.

“No, I'll be fine, I can always swim back if I get stuck.” He shot Arthur a smile and then slid into the water, waiting for Morgana and Arthur to dip below the surface before he murmured a spell, allowing him to see in the dark again. Taking a breath, he submerged himself and flipped over, swimming downwards towards where Arthur and Morgana were disappearing, Morgana's blue flame disappearing behind some rocks.

He swam fast, pushing through the dark water until he saw a tunnel and Morgana just swimming into it.

The tunnel was narrow, but not long and after a moment, Merlin pushed himself upwards, breaking the surface, his lungs about to burst from lack of oxygen. Taking a moment to orient himself, he found himself in a small bay, Morgana and Arthur treading water nearby. The sky was beginning to pale, dawn on its way and out the opening of the bay. Merlin could see the faintest tinges of pink along the horizon.

“Come along,  _ Mer _ lin! We haven't got all day.” 

Morgana and Arthur were already swimming toward the shore and Merlin thought with worry of Lancelot and the others. If Aredian had hurt them, if any of them were dead … He could have done something, he reasoned, his secret be damned, if people were in danger he should help.

He realised how much it was selfish on his part. He was afraid of what might happen between he and Arthur, and he put that above others.

On the beach, he studiously avoided Morgana’s gaze and wrung his clothes out.

“They should be just back over this hill,” Arthur said, pointing over a small rise on the island. He looked at the two of them, a small frown creasing his brow as he tried to puzzle out what was going on.

“Let's go …” he said hesitantly, turning away and walking in the direction he had indicated. He looked back over his shoulder a couple of times until Merlin followed after him.

Morgana's hand closed around his elbow almost immediately.

“You have to tell him, he'll find out eventually.”

Merlin brushed her off, picking up his speed, wet feet slapping on the sand.

They moved quickly, Arthur breaking into a jog as they began to ascend the hill. The sun broke the horizon as they crested the hill and they kept going, dropping down into the woods below.

They were nearing the bottom when Arthur came to a stop, standing on the edge of the hole. It had been enlarged, Aredian clearly having broken away much of the earth to send down the rocks. Keeping as far from the edge as he could, Arthur circled it, heading for the other side. Merlin stilled as he saw bodies.

“It's not them!” Arthur called out after a moment, standing beside a figure Merlin now recognised to be Valiant. Arthur moved from one figure to the next. “Borden … and Aredian.” Merlin could hear the distaste in Arthur's voice as he reached the last figure, gently toeing him with the tip of his boot then bending down to check his pulse.

“Dead,” he pronounced shortly.

Morgana drew up beside Merlin. “Good.”

Merlin broke away from looking at Aredian, the man still making him shiver, even in death. His magic had dispersed and Merlin couldn't sense its darkness anymore.

Just as he had the thought however, a cold creeping sense of dread washed over him. He spun where he stood paling as he saw Nimueh, a little way away, a smile curling her lips.

“You should be thanking me,” she said, “your friends wouldn't be alive right now if it wasn't for me.”

Merlin heard Arthur and Morgana gasp and turn to face Nimueh, but he stood still, keeping eye contact. Not breaking, not wavering.

“What have you done with them?” Arthur asked angrily, jumping back around the hole to join Merlin and Morgana.

“They're safe,” Nimueh said, titling her head on one side. “For now.”

Merlin saw Arthur tense beside him and Morgana appeared to be shaking.

“If you hurt them,” Arthur growled.

“You'll what, little Princeling?” Nimueh was laughing. Merlin barely kept his anger below the surface.

“If you hurt them, or anyone here,” Arthur took a step forward, his shoulders tense, the muscles in his neck rigid. “I'll kill you.”

Nimueh's laughter faded and she regarded Arthur coolly. “Perhaps,” she said simply.

Her change in character was unnerving and Merlin found himself drawing on his magic, preparing for an attack.

“I came to make a deal,” Nimueh said. “It'll put an end to all this. If only you're willing.”

“I don't make deals with sorcerers,” Arthur responded. The distaste in Arthur's tone made Merlin clench his fists and beside him, he felt Morgana flinch.

Nimueh noticed, a smile flicking across her face.

“Ah, but, this one will benefit you most highly,” Nimueh continued. “You see, all I ask is for one life. One life, and the rest may go free.”

Merlin closed his eyes, already sensing the change in Arthur's stance. Arthur was going to give himself up.

“How do we know we can trust you?” he asked loudly, opening his eyes as Nimueh turned back to him.

Nimueh eyed him and Merlin wasn't sure whether it was with anger, or perhaps respect. Maybe she did see him as some sort of threat.

“Think of it this way. If I am lying, you're all going to die anyway. If I'm telling the truth, only one need die. You have everything to gain.”

Merlin could see it in her eyes. Marking him as her target. He knew in that moment, it wouldn't be Arthur who sacrificed himself, but him.

“And what do  _ you _ gain?” Morgana asked, her eyes narrowed. 

“All I've ever wanted,” Nimueh responded. “An end to the war.”

Her gaze hovered over Merlin before landing on Arthur.

“Talk with your friends, decide who you will sacrifice. There's an abbey on top of the mountain. I'll be waiting.”

Merlin blinked and she was gone. There was a shout and Gwaine jumped down the hill where Nimueh had just been, the others behind him.

“What happened to you?” Gwaine asked. “Aredian was sending rocks down and then-”

“Nimueh turned up,” Lancelot cut in, looking grim.

“Yeah,” Morgana replied. “We know.”

“She's made a deal,” Arthur explained. “One dies, the rest live.”

“And we're expected to believe that?” Gwaine scoffed.

“We're expected to chose who dies?” Gwen asked in the same moment, her eyes turning toward Arthur as if she already knew what he was going to say.

“I'm going,” he said firmly.

Merlin closed his eyes again, all reasonable arguments washed from his mind, because Arthur was just so stubborn. Silence fell amongst the tributes, no one really wanting to meet Arthur's eyes.

“Right.” Arthur said shortly. “I'm glad that's settled.”

* * *

 

Arthur had known, from the moment his name had shown up on the Stone, that he wouldn't be coming back from Ascetir. He hadn't imagined to go in quite this way, however. Everyone had settled on the ground, quiet talk breaking out only to disperse again a moment later. Gwaine kept asking how they knew Nimueh could be trusted. Percival kept telling him to shut up. Gwen had settled next to Lancelot, their hands entwined. Morgana was leaning against Leon, her eyes closing as she warded off sleep. They had hope, he guessed, hope that there was going to be a way out of this. His only hope was that he would be remembered for doing what was good and right.

Merlin was leaning back against a tree, his eyes closed and Arthur thought he might be asleep. A sharp pain worked itself up inside Arthur's chest whilst watching Merlin. He tried to tell himself there was no use thinking of what-might-have-beens and maybes. But from that one sweet kiss in the forest, a whole new wonderful future had opened up to him and he couldn't push that away. Because somehow, being with Merlin, that was what felt right. They barely even knew each other, had only known the other existed for a few days and yet, Arthur knew he was ready to lay down his life for Merlin, no matter the cost.

Which was what he was going to do. He slowly got to his feet, noticing Merlin appeared to stay asleep and for that he was partly glad. He wouldn't know how to say goodbye.

“I'm leaving,” he said, feeling still, somewhat out of place in the group. The others looked to him, some with understanding, others with sadness, and Arthur felt a sudden rush of affection.

“It's been an honour.”

Morgana scrambled to her feet and after a beat, pulled him into a hug. Arthur returned it, almost unsure of how to return her gesture. No one had ever been like this with him before. Morgana stepped back, wiping her eyes.

“You didn't turn out so terrible,” she said quietly.

“Well, you said I'd save you all … guess destiny worked out after all, right?” Arthur attempted a smile.

Morgana frowned. “I have no idea,” she admitted.

“Arthur.” Leon stepped forward, clasping hands and nodding firmly. “You're a good man.”

“You too,” Arthur said, nodding his thanks.

“Well, I don't usually say this, but for a prince, you're not such a bad sort.” Gwaine had got to his feet, offering his hand for Arthur to shake.

Arthur took it. “Well I can go gladly to death now,” he joked. Gwaine gave a half-hearted laugh and then stood aside for the others to say goodbye. Arthur felt slightly overwhelmed, the gratitude and well-wishes of the other's touching him deeply.

“You're still a prat to me.” Arthur turned to find Merlin had woken. He was stood a little way away, fidgeting with his shirt and shifting awkwardly.

Arthur crossed to him, landing a hand heavily on Merlin's shoulder. Merlin looked up, deep sorrow in his eyes. Arthur took his hands, stilling their movements and then gently bent his head and kissed Merlin's knuckles lightly.

“Just say,” he breathed. “Just say, it, please. Whatever was wrong, whatever happened, if you did love me …”

“Of course, I did, I  _ do _ . But Arthur, I have to say-”

“Don't.” Arthur pressed a finger to Merlin's lips. “Don't say it. Don't make me change how I see you.”

Merlin's forehead came to rest lightly on Arthur's and Arthur knew he was being selfish, knew that Merlin was ready to tell him, but somehow, he didn't want to know. He wanted to hold onto that one brilliant, golden moment. He was scared. Scared that what Merlin might say might mean he'd lose him. And he couldn't lose Merlin. The only person who'd made him feel  _ loved _ . He couldn't be alone again. 

“I love you,” Arthur breathed, then turned away, trying his best not to notice the tears streaming down Merlin's cheeks. He nodded to the others, then strode off into the woods.

* * *

 

“I love you too …” The words escaped Merlin's lips, almost inaudible. But Arthur was already gone.

He sucked in a shuddering breath then began to slowly walk after him. Even in the mist of confusion of his feelings for Arthur, he knew one thing to be true: he would lay down his life for Arthur and that was what he was going to do.

“Merlin, where are you going?” A chorus of questions followed him, Lancelot stepping forward, Gwaine on his feet, Gwen close to tears.

“This isn't his destiny,” Merlin responded, not looking back. Damn Kilgharrah, damn his father and their impossible requests.

_ Stay alive _ . Well he couldn't anymore. That was the final, cold truth. 

He'd lost sight of the camp behind him when a hand closed around his wrist and he turned to find Morgana.

“You can't go, Merlin, this is what Nimueh wants. She'll kill you and take your power.”

“I can't let Arthur die,” Merlin responded stubbornly. What did destiny matter? This was his choice.

“But you can't die, Merlin!”

“When I first met Nimueh she told me she'd seen the future, seen me side with the Dragon King. Maybe it's better if I die here. Better than ever siding with Uther.”

Morgana slapped him over the head. “Idiot! Uther isn't the Dragon King! Arthur is!”

The realisation stunned Merlin into silence for a moment. How could he have not seen it?

“You have a future with him, Merlin,” Morgana said earnestly. “You can't die here.”

Swallowing, Merlin met her gaze. “Yes, but neither can he.”

He turned away again, carrying on along the path.

“I can't defeat her, Morgana. She's too powerful.”

He quickened his pace, noticing Morgana had fallen behind. He had to catch up with Arthur, stop him and then take his place. Maybe, he hoped, Nimueh would be true to her word, that the others would go free. That his death would mean something, do some good.

He broke through the treeline and came to a halt. Arthur was up ahead, looking down into the crevasse.

Even from here, Merlin could feel its creeping tendrils of darkness. Arthur was already leaning too far over … Leaping forward, Merlin managed to pull Arthur back just in time. Arthur stumbled into him, his eyes glazed over and Merlin had to call his name loudly several times over before Arthur focused on him.

His face went pale. “What was that thing?” he asked shakily, darting a glance at the crevasse.

“It's magical,” Merlin explained, knowing where this conversation would lead. What Arthur would ask.

“Magical … but … how did you?” A confused frown broke out over Arthur's face and he looked into Merlin's eyes, trying to seek out the answer to his question, the answer he couldn't quite grasp because Merlin had been holding it back. But now …

No more lies.

His eyes flared gold as he whispered a simple sleeping spell under his breath.

Arthur gasped, taking a step back, his mouth forming silent words. Already, however, the spell was taking affect and he crumpled in Merlin's arms.

“What are you doing?” he forced out.

“I'm sorry, love,” Merlin whispered, eyes welling up at the pain and confusion in Arthur's eyes. He lowered Arthur to the ground and pressed a final kiss to his forehead as Arthur's eyes drifted shut.

He stepped away, gut wrenching sobs tearing themselves from his throat as he turned his back on Arthur.

The only thing he held onto as he began to climb the mountain was that Arthur would be safe. Arthur would be safe. Arthur would be safe.

He repeated it to himself, a strange mantra, mixing and blending with his magic because maybe this was destiny, and maybe he had always been meant to protect Arthur. His magic settled around his heart, the words still echoing through this head.

Arthur would be safe.

The mountain was high and as he neared the peak, eagles soared overhead. He thought one of them might be Freya.

Arthur would be safe.

It was he last thought as he reached the peak and stepped into the abbey.

Nimueh was waiting, standing beside an altar, and she nodded once when she saw Merlin had come.

“I thought it would be you,” she said simply.

“I'm ready,” Merlin responded.

Nimueh lifted her head and nodded again then gestured toward the altar.

* * *

 

Arthur was brought back to consciousness by someone sharply patting his face.

“Wake up you fool,” a voice, Morgana's, muttered.

He opened his eyes, the drowsiness taking a moment to wear off before remembrance suddenly crashed over him in a wave.

Merlin had magic.

He shot to his feet, Morgana and the other tributes who were gathered around, darting out of the way.

“I need to save him,” he panted.

“I guess he told you?” Morgana asked, an eyebrow raised, her eyes searching his face for a reaction.

Arthur nodded, still processing the moment when Merlin had looked into his eyes and they had flared bright, brilliant gold.

“Told you what?” Gwaine asked.

“Merlin has magic,” Morgana explained.

The words sounded so meaningless to Arthur however, the startled exclamations of the other's fading out as he tried to focus. Tried to concentrate. What did it matter? If Merlin had magic or not? Amid his confusion, only one thing was clear to him. He loved Merlin. Merlin was in danger.

“I need to save him,” he repeated, pushing through the group and looking up at the mountain. Dark clouds had begun to gather up there, a swirling dark storm.

A shadow passed overhead and looking up, Arthur ducked just in time as a great, dark feathered eagle came to land in front of them.

“ _ There isn't much time _ ,” a voice spoke in Arthur's head and he yelped in surprise when he realised it was the bird. “ _ Merlin needs you _ .”

“He's going to sacrifice himself,” Arthur said, a raging battle of emotions and feelings clouding his ability to think. One thing still pierced that, however, he needed to save Merlin.

“ _ That cannot be allowed to happen. Climb on my back, there is little time _ .”

Arthur hesitated long enough for Morgana to push him forwards. “Go, we'll be right behind you.”

Arthur crossed to the eagle and carefully hoisted himself up onto her back.

“Er, I'm Arthur,” he said.

“ _ My name is Freya. Now hold on, we must hurry. Merlin cannot die, it is destiny _ .”

Arthur had a moment's warning before Freya crouched then leapt up into the sky. One word registered with Arthur and he felt a swooping in his stomach.  _ Destiny _ . Was it possible, that he, Arthur, son of Uther Pendragon, could have a destiny with a sorcerer from Ealdor? 

As the ground dropped away below them and Freya soared higher, Arthur realised that somehow, he had known it was so, all along.

**OOO**

Freya left him on a rocky slope, a little way below the abbey that was at the peak of the mountain. It stood, tall and ruined against the skyline, the early morning glow fading as the dark storm clouds continued to swirl in. As Arthur scrambled up the slope, rain began to fall and he heard thunder rumbling.

Sheer desperation forced him upwards, terror clawing at his heart that he might be too late, that Merlin might …

He panicked, slipping on the rocks, already slick with rain as the skies opened up above him and it started to pour. The rain blurred his vision and turned the whole world a dismal grey. Arthur was almost knocked to the ground under the sheer force of water barrelling down. A small thought entered his head that Merlin wouldn't let the world end up like this, Merlin shone like a sun in Arthur's mind and the rain only seemed to say one thing to Arthur. But that would mean Merlin was gone, and that couldn't be true.

He stumbled on, reaching the abbey as a flash of lightning burst overhead. The great, rotting, wooden doors stood ajar, the ceiling of the building long gone and everything around Arthur seemed to have crumbled down over time.

Through the rain, he sought out something, anything, and his eyes eventually came to rest on a stone altar in the centre. A figure lay upon it.

“ _ NO _ !” his scream of desperation was drowned out by the wind as he rushed to the altar, hands reaching for Merlin's figure and grasping his head. Merlin's eyelids flickered a little and hope rushed into Arthur's heart. 

“Merlin!” he shouted above the rage of the storm.

The smallest of smiles shimmered over Merlin's face and he whispered a word. “Arthur …”

He was saying more, but Arthur couldn't hear. He bent his ear to Merlin's mouth, listening to his faint words.

“It's funny … someone once told me … if I died, nature's heart would weep … can you feel the rain Arthur? Nature's weeping … for me!” Merlin sounded almost surprised by the fact.

“You're not going to die Merlin!” Arthur's eyes found Merlin's and he tried to convey in a look everything he wanted to say, all the words that needed to be said, that should have been said, long ago or would have been said, one day –  _ dammit he's not dead yet –  _ in a better time. 

Merlin's lips were moving again, but his words were now so faint that Arthur's couldn't make them out. He focused on Merlin's lips, trying to work out what it was he was trying to say.

“magic … only … for you. … love … you.”

His eyelids drifted shut as Arthur screamed his name once more, his heart practically tearing in two because this couldn't be right, Merlin couldn't be …

He fell to his knees, pressing his forehead to Merlin's and wept.

**OOO**

It was sometime later that the rain stopped. The rain died away and whilst the clouds remained, the abbey seemed to lighten. Arthur blinked, wondering how it was possible. Because Merlin was dead, and the world would never be light again.

“He spoke your name, before I killed him.”

Arthur whirled around, where had been grief, now anger filled his heart as his eyes fixed on Nimueh.

“Said, ‘Arthur will be safe.’ It's funny, how much he felt for you, you barely knew each other. I guess that's destiny.”

A smirk crossed Nimueh's face. “It is a cruel world is it not? That here, I should sacrifice a sorcerer and the only one to weep, a Pendragon.”

“Did you not feel the rain, Nimueh?” Arthur asked, his voice hoarse. “The world itself was weeping for the crime you committed here.”

“He was a traitor to our kind. His death was not painful and he came to it on his own terms. No, I committed no crime here, Arthur Pendragon. It was an act of mercy.”

Arthur sagged, grief washing over him once more.

“Anyway, I have his power now. My work here is done,” Nimueh was moving forward toward the altar. “I have sent word to Camelot and your ship is arriving. You're free to go, or is that not what you wanted?”

She reached out to place a hand on Merlin's face and the anger boiled up inside him again. He leapt for Nimueh, knocking her to the ground with an almost savage cry.

They both slipped in the rain soaked earth and Nimueh managed to slip from his grasp, knocking him to the ground with a well aimed blow. She stood above him and raised her hand.

“If you so wish for death,” she said, almost sighing. Her eyes flared gold.

But then, something went wrong. Nimueh's magic seemed to die with a splutter and she stepped back, placing a hand over her heart. Trying again, she raised her hand once more, but the same thing happened again. A sudden streak of lightening hit the ground nearby, making them both flinch and what Arthur saw there made him confused, and yet gave him courage at the same time. A fine, golden sword lay on the smoking earth. The blade inlaid with gold and etched in a language Arthur couldn't understand. Arthur grabbed it, scrambling to his feet whilst Nimueh simply watched, something like fear on her face.

“You know what he said before he died?” Arthur asked, something that could be called a smile crossing his face. “That his magic was only for me. Only for me. You took his magic, Nimueh, and that was something you should never have done. Because alive or dead, he'll protect me. I know that now. It's our  _ destiny _ .” 

He leapt forward, the sword sinking into Nimueh where she stood, a look of shock and fear on her face.

She knew she had lost.

Dropping her to the ground with a great sense of finality, Arthur turned back to the altar, hoping against hope that by some miracle Merlin would be sitting up, smiling with that great, ridiculous smile.

But Merlin was gone. The altar was empty. Arthur staggered to a halt, a cry of surprise dying on his lips.

“Merlin?”

No one responded, the abbey was silent and Arthur turned in a full circle, confusion and pain making tears well up in his eyes again.

“Why've you left me?” The broken plea passed his lips as Arthur fell to his knees once more, sobs wracking his body unable to get the thought out of his head that Nimueh had, in actuality, won.

Merlin was dead, his presence gone from the world and he, Arthur, was alone. All alone.

**OOO**

The hours after that were a blur. Morgana and the others reached the abbey eventually, piecing together what they could from Arthur's broken sobs. Gwen had led him away, but Arthur could tell Gwaine, Morgana and Lancelot had stayed, desperately searching the abbey for any sign.

“Dead men don't just disappear,” Gwaine growled, later that day as evening was falling. They'd made it to the beach, waiting for the ship that Arthur guessed would at some point appear. Gwaine was trying to hold onto hope, Arthur could tell, but he couldn't feel anything but empty. He couldn't hope any more, he didn't have that luxury.

He stayed on the beach as the light faded, staring out across the endless expanse of greyness. The clouds still hung heavy over the island and the sea was flat, a blank stretch of nothingness as day turned to night and darkness fell. Someone lit a fire, a few people talked; Arthur was oblivious to it all.

The sword that had fallen from the sky sat by his side. He'd cleaned it of Nimueh's blood and it gleamed, reflecting the dancing light of the fire. Merlin's last gift to him. The thought made a small smile break out on his face.

Night passed and morning came again. Arthur didn't move, didn't sleep, keeping up his silent vigil, waiting for … well he wasn't really sure what for. For the ship? For his uncle and Cenred and some form of nightmarish journey, then back to Camelot to his father? He'd be congratulated no doubt, for killing Nimueh, saving the lives of the tributes and future tributes that would have gone to Ascetir. But what did it matter when he hadn't saved the one person who mattered? No, he wasn't waiting for the ship.

And whilst he didn't want to admit it, he knew he was waiting for Merlin. Waiting for him, when he knew, certainty deep in his heart, that Merlin was gone.

It was late afternoon when someone sighted the ship. Arthur expected cries of excitement or happiness, but instead there was just silence. They should have all been going home. Heck, none of them should have even been there in the first place.

The ship was waiting as they took to the water, swimming out into the sea. Arthur was last, sticking the sword through his belt and sparing one last look at the island. A bird was swooping around the mountain's peak, but beside that, nothing.

They all swam out and climbed up the rope ladders, Arthur's heart fell again when he saw Cenred's men grabbing the other tributes, restraining them to take them below deck. Morgana fought most furiously. but Arthur saw she was eventually overwhelmed, her knife kicked away across the deck. Arthur didn't even bother trying to fight. He let Cenred's men take him, not breaking eye contact with the man.

“Such a shame to see my little toy didn't make it through,” Cenred said, smirking whilst the other soldiers laughed. Furious Arthur wrenched himself from his captors grasp, punching Cenred fully across the jaw. The man staggered, but there were too many soldiers around and the men quickly pulled Arthur back. One dragged the sword from Arthur's belt and then they forced him to his knees.

Recovering quickly, Cenred looked back at Arthur, malice in his gaze.

“Oh, and we forgot to tell you, _ sire _ , whilst you were away, your father died. All hail the king!” Cenred's voice was laden was sarcasm as he spat in Arthur's face. A dead weight dropped in Arthur's gut. His father was dead. 

The guards forced him below deck and shackled him to the wall. The other tributes were either silent or, like Gwaine, angrily protesting and shouting abuse at the soldiers.

Arthur felt miserable, forcing tears down again as he thought of Merlin, defending him from Cenred, his eyes glowing with fire and strength … his smile.

Arthur let his head fall back against the wood and closed his eyes, shutting off the world for a while.

**OOO**

Guards came down through the hatch, jerking Arthur from his daze. They grabbed him, releasing his shackles and then hauled him up on deck. Arthur could hear the others shouting, but found he didn't really care what Cenred might do to him. He was hollow and empty, couldn't feel any more pain.

He registered dimly that they'd readied the plank, sticking over the side of the deck. So this ended up being his fate, he thought, dinner for the sharks.

His uncle, was there. Agravaine was watching from the bridge, his expression unreadable. Arthur regarded him with just as little emotion.

“After you, sire,” Cenred said, sweeping his hand toward the plank amid laughter.

“What will you tell the people?” Arthur asked. “When you return hope with out their beloved prince? … king?”

“That your trials on Ascetir left you unstable and you took your own life on the return voyage.” Cenred's tone was mocking.

Arthur bowed his head, a slightly strangled laugh escaping him. No hero's welcome for him then. But did any of it matter now that Merlin was gone.

The guards pushed him onto the plank, then prodded him forwards with the tips of their swords. Arthur turned to face the great, endless expanse of blue before him. A small blossom of warmth took root inside him as he realised that soon he'd see Merlin again.

He'd reached the end of the plank, the wood flimsy and bending beneath his weight. A soft breeze lightly tugged at his clothing and hair and he closed his eyes. Remembering what it felt like to fly on Freya's back. He hadn't really appreciated it, he thought, too wrapped up in the moment; his need to get to Merlin, the rising panic and confusion because Merlin had magic, yet Arthur had gone to save him. But what did any of it matter any more? All Arthur knew was that he could never hate Merlin for his magic, could never hate Merlin. Through all his years, all his life, Merlin was the only person who had ever made Arthur feel loved.

The only warning he got was a great swooping sound from above and then a scream from on deck. He opened his eyes just as golden talons closed around him and he flailed in surprise as he was lifted off the ship and into the air. He looked up, dark feathers above him and great arched wings identifying his rescuer as Freya. But as he looked up, he saw legs hooked around Freya's neck and squinting into the sun, thought he saw a shock of dark hair and a smile he knew so well … but it couldn't be because Merlin was dead.

“ _ Merlin says hi, _ ” Freya said and for a moment Arthur just gaped. 

“Merlin says  _ hi _ ,” he repeated weakly. 

“I thought you'd be a little more pleased to see me,” Arthur heard Merlin's shout over the wind. Freya arched in the air, turning back towards the ship.

“How are you alive?” Arthur roared, emotions bright and vivid rushing back to him. He was confused, afraid, panicked, but above all, a bright undeniable joy was coursing through him.

“I guess it must be destiny!” Merlin laughed.

Arthur snorted.

Below, on the ship, Arthur could see Cenred and his men, some running, terrified, for cover, others drawing swords and to his horror, he saw Cenred raising a crossbow.

The bow however, buckled and twisted out of his hands before he'd even loaded a bolt. Above him, he heard Merlin laugh and Arthur cracked a smile. Cenred looked outraged.

“ _ I'm going to drop you on the deck _ ,” Freya said. “ _ Be ready to fight _ .”

Arthur already felt ready. In his current state, he felt he could take on a dragon and win. Because Merlin was alive … Merlin was alive. He had to keep telling himself that, because his mind was having a hard time working out if it was actually happening.

Freya swooped low over the deck and Arthur felt her claw releasing him. He braced and rolled as he hit the deck, coming out of the roll and lunging at the nearest soldier. Freya had dropped him on the bridge and the guard he tackled fell back against the steering wheel, frantically scrabbling for footing. He still looked slightly dazed, apparently, people being rescued by eagles wasn't a part of his day-to-day life. Arthur overpowered him easily, taking his sword and knocking him unconscious.

Spinning round, he took a defensive stance, the other guards on the deck having come to their senses. They stepped closer, weapons at the ready. Agravaine was standing back from the fighting, watching with a scowl. Arthur evaluated how the soldiers were standing and then switched quickly from defence to attack, spinning forward, his sword catching one man across the arm and then turning to bring the hilt of his sword down upon another's head. The injured dropped back and the other dropped to the ground, unconscious. The remaining soldiers pressed forward, backing Arthur up against the steering wheel. He blocked their thrusts, knocking their swords aside, but he couldn't fight freely and a lucky hit from one of the men sent his sword spinning away.

It just as quickly spun back into his hand and Arthur let out a bark of laughter at the shocked faces on his attackers. He really was going to have to keep Merlin around.

There was shouting on the lower deck as Arthur beat his opponents to the floor. Agravaine had disappeared so Arthur rushed to the railing by the stairs.

Morgana and the others had broken out and were piling across the deck, taking out Cenred's men one by one. Morgana was in the middle, tossing soldiers aside with a wave of her hand. Gwaine and Percival were flattening a group of soldiers near the mast. Gwen and Elyan were dragging Cenred from where he had been cowering near the cabin. They were winning.

Then Arthur felt the sword tip press into his back.

“Tell your people to stand down,” Agravaine said, his voice harsh.

“I doubt your threatening my life will make them give up their own,” Arthur replied, a small laugh escaping him.

“You're their precious  _ king _ ,” Agravaine almost spat, “they'll do anything for you. Now get them to  _ stand down _ .”

“I have a sorcerer on my side, how do you propose to subdue him?” Arthur asked, revelling in the fact he could use the word sorcerer almost casually now.

“Ah yes, the sorcerer. I'm sure your father would have been  _ so _ proud.” Arthur could hear Agravaine's smirk and his shoulders tensed. 

“That doesn't matter now,” he responded calmly. “I see magic as a force for good now.”

“Did he enchant you? Or did you really go mad on Ascetir?” Agravaine was laughing now.

“Something like that,” Arthur chuckled to himself. “Maybe its-” He was cut off as, with a great whooshing and sudden shadow, Agravaine was swept away in Freya's talons, her wing just brushing Arthur as she passed.

Agravaine's shout of shock was drowned in the wind and Freya swept over the sea, releasing her prey out over the water. Arthur watched his uncle's body hit the water with a sense of finality.

Freya clattered onto the deck next to him a moment later and Merlin slid from her back. He came to Arthur's side, worry plain on his face.

“Are you ok? I thought for a moment-”

Arthur cut off Merlin's words with a long kiss. He savoured the moment, drowning in his emotions because he'd thought he'd never have this. He'd thought he'd lost it all. And now, here Merlin was, alive and by his side.

They walked, side by side, to the main deck. All of Cenred's men had been dealt with and Gwaine was, with great joy, pushing Cenred towards the plank.

Arthur felt Merlin tense beside him so he took his hand, squeezing lightly. “It's ok. He's not going to hurt anyone anymore.”

Merlin sighed. “I know. And anyway, he wasn't the real enemy.”

“She's gone too.”

“Yes, how did that happen? I wasn't quite with it at the time.” Merlin's lips quirked in a smile.

Arthur pushed him. “Don't.” He couldn't have Merlin joking about that. Not yet. “I thought I'd lost you.”

“So I came back.” Merlin turned, pulling Arthur close and resting his forehead against Arthur's. Arthur closed his eyes, Merlin's soft breath on his face and his hand's cupping Arthur's cheeks.

“I'll always come back for you, Arthur.”

Arthur opened his eyes and frowned slightly. “How did you do it?”

Merlin shrugged. “Destiny.”

“Well, then,” Arthur replied, a smile on his lips, “I could get used to this destiny lark.”

“Here's to the future,” Merlin said, tilting his head in.

“Here's to  _ our _ future.”

Their lips met once more and Arthur dragged Merlin in, wrapping his arms around him.  _ This _ , this moment, this perfect moment of euphoria, this was all Arthur needed. 

“Does anyone know how to sail this thing?” Gwaine asked loudly.

Merlin pulled back, rolling his eyes slightly, but letting them glow gold all the same. Wind filled the sails, sailing them to Camelot, to the future, to  _ destiny _ .

Fin

 


End file.
